The First Bird
by Xule
Summary: Set 5 years before the events of ASOIAF, this is the story of the first red-headed, blue-eyed bird that captured The Hound's heart. PLEASE RATE AND REVIEW! FINAL CHAPTER IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

Rassa hunched wearily over her mare's withers. Her father hated it when she didn't watch her posture, so she was glad that he was all the way at the front of their little caravan. Up where he belonged; with his wife and five legitimate children, leaving the bastard girl to ride with the servants.

Not that Rassa minded much. Riding with the servants meant she didn't have to wear a dress, she didn't have to watch her posture, and she got to talk to all the interesting characters serving under her father's house. Richard Arryn was a kindly man in middle age, who doted on any and every one that would have it. His servants hardly felt like servants and his bastards, Rassa and her younger brother Jorro, hardly ever felt like bastards.

Such was his way in his own little keep, with roofs and walls to hide his soft nature. Out here on the Kingsroad, where the entire world could see them, the servants rode behind their master and the bastards kept their heads down and their mouths shut. Rassa could only imagine what her father's wife would do if she were to trot up front calling "Father how long 'til we get there!". Bridget Arryn was kind enough to her and her brother, but she had her limits. _I'd be shipped back to Braavos faster than I can blink._

Rassa was the result of an encounter in a Braavosi whorehouse more than twenty years ago, her brother the result of a second encounter in the same whorehouse, with the same woman. When she considered it, she could not help pitying poor Lady Arryn a bit. All wives lived with the possibility of their husbands fathering bastards on their adventures, but for one's husband to father two bastards with the same woman not three years apart – that must be humiliating. Still, when Rassa and Jorro had arrived on their doorstep on a stormy night five years ago, Bridget did not turn them away or have them killed, instead she gave them a roof over their heads and a hot meal every day and promised them she would not commit them to the whorehouse again. Rassa loved Bridget for that, but she could never quite trust her. There were moments when the woman would glare at her with unconcealed revulsion, times when she felt her eyes on her back; watching her every move. If Bridget sent the house guards to slit her throat in the middle of the night, Rassa would not have been surprised. She and Jorro were always on their toes.

Yet Rassa could not help but relax as they rode. It was the Long Summer in Westeros, the sun baked her back and the fields around the broad dirt road were a lush green. They were on their way to see the king – or her half-siblings were, at least – and she was very excited. Her father was the Hand's cousin, his favourite cousin, and he and his family had been invited to celebrate Jon Arryn's birthday in King's Landing and even the servants (and the bastards) would be permitted to stay in the castle for the duration of the celebrations. Just the thought of it sent her insides a flutter.

Ahead, her father gave a shout, snapping Rassa out of her reverie. _Are we being attacked? _Rassa saw that at this point the road was climbing a small, steep hill and her father had only just reached the top before he whipped his stallion into a gallop, with his family and guard following close at his heels. The servants' van followed soon after, and Rassa booted her old grey into a loping gallop along with the rest of them. As she crested the hill she laughed; before her lay King's Landing, the great walled capital of Westeros, its great banners of red and yellow blowing in the crisp afternoon breeze. Lannister and Baratheon, the lion and the stag, soon she would be among them.

* * *

><p>Richard Arryn and his family were escorted through the main gate of the Red keep by four of the kings guard mounted atop enormous glistening palfreys. The servants were ushered around the back into a small stone courtyard, where they dismounted, fed, watered and cleaned their own horses before being led through a back door into the servant's wing of the castle. Rassa and Jorro were about to shuffle after the cooks and servers into the bleak lower chambers when they were stopped by a plump old matron.<p>

"You're the children are you?" She whispered, not wanting to mention _whose_ children they were, but Rassa took her meaning well enough; she had been addressed as worse things by the help in her few visits to other demesnes. She nodded. "You're not to be sent down into those dark rooms, your father said. Instead you'll be up with the guards and maids."

Rassa cast a guilty look over her shoulder at the rest of her company, who were squeezing down a narrow hallway to sleep in cold stone cells on straw-stuffed mattresses. She did not want to go with them, but she certainly did not want them to resent her because their lord favoured his misfired seed over the people who worked for him. Though at the same time, he had told her not to cause a fuss while they were there. _Head down, mouth shut_. Rassa took her brother's hand and followed the old lady upstairs.

Jorro was placed in with the guards and Rassa on the floor above him with the maids. She hated being so far from her brother, who was her best friend as well as her full-blooded kin, but she knew that placing a woman near a cohort of puffed-up palace guards was not a wise decision. So she memorised the path to his door and promised to steal down to him as often as possible.

Her room was almost as nice as the one her father had given her, with a narrow window looking out over the docks and the vast blue ocean, an acceptably large bed against the right-hand wall and an aged virginal upon the left. Her trunk had already been deposited on the floor by the door, with a note from her father on top.

_I hope you like the room. You may come to the feast tomorrow night. In the meantime the castle and the grounds are yours to explore at your leisure. Try to stay out of trouble._

Rassa scoffed at his bluntness. He was even afraid of someone reading his little note to his bastard daughter; he had not even signed it. She could not help feeling a pang in her heart at the thought of it. Still, she would do as he said, she would go to the feast, she would explore the castle, and she would _try _to stay out of trouble.

* * *

><p>It seemed the inhabitants of the Red Keep did not have much reverence for the Seven. Rassa noted with some relief that the Godswood was completely empty. She did not have much time for the gods of Westeros herself, but she had always loved the overgrown clustered of carved trees that made up their everyday place of worship. She took off her shoes walked around the wood for most of the afternoon, admiring each of its inhabitants in meticulous detail, feeling the earth and the grass that housed their roots under her feet, sometimes even pulling herself gingerly into their lower limbs, making sure not to harm any of the sacred trees, she apologised silently for her intrusion to each of them in turn before settling down at the roots of the heart tree with a book she had found in her room. It was some childish tale of a foolish knight, but she enjoyed it well enough, and took great pleasure in reading it, she sat there until she lost track of time, running her toes through the soft earth at her feet and giggling girlishly at Ser's antics.<p>

Only the increasing abundance of gnats darting in front of her face informed her of how late it was getting. She looked up with weary eyes to see that most of the sun had already sunk beneath the horizon and the world was awash with a dim grey hue. She jumped up, worrying that perhaps her father might stop to visit her before he went to bed. She had promised Jorro she would go to see him, too. Damn it all. She dashed out of the Godswood and across the narrow bridge spanning the Blackwater Rush.

"Who goes there!" A gruff voice called, bringing Rassa to a halt. A man in black boiled leather stepped out of the shadows of the keep. He was tall and muscular, with a large sword strapped to his back. From what she could see, his face was gaunt, with piercing grey eyes and a heavy brow, framed by a mane of long black hair pushed over to one side. She hesitated.

"I said _who goes there!_" The man turned stomped towards her and it was only then that she could see the left side of his face, the ruined side. A mass of twisted scars covered that side, twisting his mouth into a permanent frown and extending down his neck and further back than Rassa could see. He had tried to cover some of the destruction with his thick black hair, but Rassa could imagine what was there, worse scars and a hole where his ear should be, for she knew this face. It was famous throughout Westeros. This was the face of Sandor Clegane. The Hound.

"I-I uh..." She spluttered. She had heard about the Hound, what he did to people, how he treated anyone that threatened the Royal Family. She knew she had to explain herself, but she could not for the life of her think how.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Clegane grabbed the front of her tunic and heaved her forward until she was only inches away from that face. She shook her once, twice, repeating his question, but all she could utter was incoherent sounds. Then he raised his fist to strike her and all she managed to do was whimper and close her eyes, waiting for the blow.

A blow that never came. Rassa opened her eyes. The Hound still had a hold of her, his fist was still half-poised in the air, but something else had caught his attention. His grip on the front of her tunic had pulled it down considerably, exposing the tops of her breasts. His eyes flicked systematically from them to her face for what seemed like forever before he let go.

"Get out of here." He growled.

"I'm Richard Arryn's daughter!" She finally blurted out. It was amazing how well her thought processes worked when she was not about to have her skull smashed in.

Clegane snorted. "Richard Arryn has two daughters. I saw both of them today. You don't look anything like either of them, girl."

"No, not one of them." She implored. "I'm the _other one_. The bastard."

Clegane blinked at her. "He brought his bastard to the Red Keep?" He laughed. "Spare me your stories, off with you!"

"It's true!" She threw her hands in the air hopelessly. "He brought both of us, my brother and I, we promised to pose as servants so he would let us come!"

"Servants?" He eyed her. "You look more like an urchin, all ragged tunics and dirty feet."

"Feet?" Rassa looked down and gasped. "I left my slippers in the Godswood!"

She turned and sprinted back over the bridge. She could hear Clegane bellowing after her and his feet heavy on the stones behind her. But she had to beat him to the heart tree. Her father had given her those slippers. And they were no urchin's slippers.

Rassa skidded to a stop under the gnarled heart tree, panting. She leaned a hand against its rough bark and pointed to the gap in the roots where she had placed her shoes. "There! See?" She called to Clegane, who was advancing menacingly.

"I don't see anything!" The Hound snarled, heaving her up entirely and hefting her over his shoulder. Rassa shrieked in protest and pounded at his back with her fists. She would have kicked him too, but he had the good sense to hold her legs tight.

"Put me down!" She roared. "Put me down you son of a bitch! They're right _there_. If you'd just look..."

He threw her down with a bellow that shook the wood. She landed hard against the tree and cried out in pain. The Hound loomed over her, seething. "You impudent little bitch! I ought to kill you right here! I'd rape you too, only I'd never be able to get hard with all the noise you make!"

Rassa had had enough. She had a temper too, and he had just unleashed it. She picked up one of her the fine shoes and heaved it at him. The Hound thundered a string of curses and grabbed her wrists as she picked up the other pump, with her arms disabled, Rassa employed the use of her legs, she swept them against Clegane's shins as he bent over her, bringing him down onto the ground. Clegane yelped in pain at his knee engaged with a protruding root and rolled over, letting go of her in the process. Rassa stepped over him and let loose with the other slipper, whacking him in the head a dozen times. "LOOK. AT. THE. FUCKING. SHOE!" She punctuated each word with a wallop. "IS. THAT. SO. BLOODY. HARD!"

"Alright! Alright! Alright!" Clegane raised his hands in surrender. "But if there's nothing convincing on it, I'll skin you alive and bugger your corpse!"

Rassa uttered a "HAH!" of success and handed him the shoe. It was a red velvet pump with a leather sole and low wooden heel, adorned with with a small bow on the front, which in turn was embellished with a round onyx. It certainly was not a beggar's shoe, but Clegane inspected it further, tapping the sole and the heel and bringing the jewel right up to his eye. "Look inside." Rassa suggested. Clegane turned the shoe and fingered the soft silk lining, then the inner sole caught his eye and he growled in dissatisfaction. There, stamped into the soft leather, was the moon-and-falcon of the House of Arryn.

* * *

><p>Sandor escorted her back to the castle in silence. Rassa made no mention of what had happened. She did not want to infuriate the Hound again. Her heart was still pumping and her throat parched from their recent ordeal. She did make quite a point of tapping the heels of her slippers against the smooth stone of the narrow bridge, however.<p>

They reached the narrow tower of the servants' wing and mounted the first two flights together. She hesitated on the second landing, wondering if she should keep her word to Jorro. Clegane eyed her suspiciously.

"What?" He barked.

"My brother's room is on this floor." She mused. "I wonder if he's still awake."

"Go to bed, girl." Sandor ordered.

"I'm not a girl, _ser_. And I don't take orders from you." She shot back.

"I'm no _ser_." He hissed, stooping slightly to glare right into her deep blue eyes.

"Are you trying to scare me? Because it's not working." She patted the left side of his face condescendingly. "Those scars might work on little kids and dainty women, but I am neither of those things."

Though he continued to scowl at her, his eyes changed when she touched his twisted face. She had shocked him. The satisfaction of that realisation made her bolder.

"My mother was a whore." She told him. "And one of her favourite patrons was a pyromancer. Your burns are _nothing _compared to him. His whole body was a mass of twisted flesh."

"His whole body?" Clegane was clearly disturbed by the notion, but he donned his hateful mask quickly. "And how would you know that, little _whore_?" He snarled, face twisting in a sadistic grin.

"My mother and her matron sold my virginity to him." She snapped. This time it was her turn to glare straight up at him. "I was twelve years old and I had to let that ugly lump of flesh writhe on top of me while I shuddered in revulsion, and humiliation."

Sandor lowered his gaze, clearly abashed that he had drawn something so personal out of her. "I-"

"You know what?" Rassa slipped one of her slippers off and brandished it. "I don't think I made my point properly before."

Her face betrayed her, and split into a grin before she could even finish her sentence. Sandor burst out laughing. His scraping chortle echoed up and down the stairwell. "No, perhaps not. " he managed. "But please, spare me the next lesson until the bumps on my head have gone down."

She giggled. "I make no promises."

A footfall on the staircase above them caught their attention. Rassa turned to see her brother descending the steps. "Jorro!" She exclaimed.

He looked up and beamed at her. "You never came! I went up to the maids' rooms to look for you myself, but you weren't there either."

"I'm sorry. I stayed in the Godswood overlong." She explained. "I fell asleep."

"Moron." Jorro rolled his eyes before nodding at Sandor Clegane. "What's he doing with you?"

"It was dark by the time I started to make for the castle." She told him before Clegane could explain himself. Her brother had a gentle nature, but he tended to be overly protective of her when it came to men. "Lord Clegane spotted me on my way over the bridge and offered to escort me back to my chamber."

"I see." Jorro eyed Clegane with unconcealed doubt. "I thank you."

"Yes." Rassa turned to Sandor and gave him a wink. "Thank you."

Clegane hesitated a moment before inclining his head. "A pleasure, Milady." He responded gruffly. He turned on his heel and trudged back down the stairs.

Jorro frowned at her. "Be careful who you walk with, sister."

Rassa scoffed. "I don't think he's a threat. Besides, Father would be furious if anyone harmed me, and I don't think a king's man would risk enraging the Hand's family."

"Just watch yourself." He urged. "I wanted to explore the grounds with you today."

"I'm sorry brother." She really was. "I promise we'll have a wander tomorrow morning before we have to start preparing for the feast."

"I'll hold you to that." He nodded. "You better not go off leading some hound around instead."

"Never." She swore. "Well, good night Jorro."

"Night Rassa."

They kissed each other upon the cheek and went their separate rooms.

* * *

><p>Rassa was not used to sleeping without her brother in the next chamber. The thought of him lying two floors below her made her feel cold, alone and uneasy. She tossed for hours, but sleep would not take her, so she padded over to her chest and dug Dunda out from among her garments. She had made him when she was a girl, from strips of fabric that she salvaged from the many torn dresses strewn about her mother's whore house. A large patchwork dog, with floppy ears and big, mismatched button eyes. She had learned needlework solely to make him, stuffed him with rags and taken him to bed every night to guard her from the bad men. Now that she was an adult she only used him when she felt most alone, but he was always with her wherever she went.<p>

She crawled into bed and drew Dunda in close, nuzzling him and inhaling his scent. His dull, musty odor had always comforted her. She vaguely recalled that Sandor Clegane had a similar fragrance. She looked at the large tapestry covering the wall in front of her. _Why I am I thinking about how the Hound smells?_ She asked herself. She smirked at the characters entangled in battle. _He did smell nice, though_.

* * *

><p>The next day Rassa kept her word and accompanied Jorro around the castle grounds in the early hours of the blazing sun. They dressed well and kept quiet, so no one was alerted to the presence of Richard Arryn's bastards in the royal keep. They looked just like any of the other nobles that had come for the feast. When they were done with the castle, they wandered under the portcullis and took a long walk north to Rhaenys' Hill. There they admired the colossal dome that had once housed the Targaryens' dragons and Jorro banged on the immense bronze doors of the edifice, complaining that he wanted to see dragon bones.<p>

When they finally returned to their chambers the servants were all scurrying about the castle in anticipation of the banquet that would be held in just a few hours. They had offered their services to their father's cook, but she dismissed them. "Your father told me you're to be treated like guests, even if you don't get to sit with him like his real family." She told them. "Do yourselves a favour and let people spoil you for once, it's a privilege most children of your ilk never get to experience."

Rassa appreciated the servant's insistence that she make the most of things as they were, but she did not feel right sitting in her room while everyone she knew was working themselves into a frenzy. She tried to take a nap but she was too fidgety. She tried to continue the book about Ser Stupid but could not concentrate on it. She slammed Ser closed and huffed grumpily. Her eyes fell on the sagging virginal opposite her. Her mother had taught her to play once, when she was very young. She felt an urge to see if any of her ability had remained.

The heavy wooden bench proclaimed its objections at being sat on after so many years unused, but it was a sturdy object and held her up easily. The instrument was a different story. The delicate wooden panelling was peeling off it, it was covered in dust, and when Rassa lifted its lid to inspect the keys she found that the leftmost hinges were broken, so that it tilted awfully and clattered backwards. She carefully lowered the front cover next and pressed a key daintily, then the next, working her lithe fingers quickly up the keyboard to find that it was only slightly out of tune, though the old, rusted strings produced a partially muffled sound.

Rassa righted herself and began to play. It was an old Braavosi tune her mother's matron had taught her, which she half remembered and half improvised. As she played the words came to her lips, so she started humming along, and then coyly whispering them to the walls, soon enough she was singing aloud as merrily as she had in the whorehouse when there were patrons watching her.

A shadow fell over her, making her start. She turned to see Sandor Clegane smirking down at her.

"Look at the little birdy I've found!" He teased.

Rassa felt the colour rise to her cheeks. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to hear how well you tweet. " He stepped up behind her and laid his heavy, mail-clad hands on her shoulders. Despite their weight, his touch was surprisingly tender. "Sing, sweet Birdy. I'd like to hear the rest of that song."

She did not move, but folded her hands stubbornly in her lap. "Go away."

"But you sang so willingly before." He brushed his thumb lightly against her neck. Rassa shivered in spite of herself, but held the sigh that rose in her throat firmly behind her lips.

"I wasn't singing it for _you_!" She grumbled. "I didn't even know you were there!"

"So pretend I'm not here now." He whispered in her ear. His warm breath and the scent of him so close to her face sent another shiver down her spine.

_Confound this body of mine_. "I can't… I can't sing if someone's watching me." She started to shake. Memories of the whore house came back to her. The leering men, the ones that touched her even when she did not want them, the way they licked their lips as they pinned her down. Her lip quivered and she lowered her head.

The bench creaked as Sandor eased his weight onto it. He put his hand under her chin and turned her head gently. "Come on Birdy. All I'm asking for is a song."

"Rassa." She said, her deep blue eyes on his face. His ruined face that could have been handsome, with high cheekbones and light eyes. "My name is Rassa."

"Rassa." He repeated softly. "I'm not trying to humiliate you. I really do want to hear you sing."

She smiled nervously and nodded. Her hands felt clumsy with him watching, but they found the right keys well enough. Her voice was harder to summon, but after humming along to the melody for a few moments she soon found that too. She sang the same song as before, all the while with Sandor's eyes on her. As she reached the final verse she looked at him and could not help but smile at his unabashed fascination. To her surprise, he blushed and smiled back.

The song ended and Rassa cut the melody short, mostly because she could not remember the perdendo. Sandor coughed nervously and tapped at the key in front of him. She nudged him.

He looked up and she raised her eyebrows. "Yes…that was…" He sighed as if it pained him to utter the word. "Nice."

"_Nice?_" She exclaimed. "You barge in and demand a song from me and when I give it to you all that you can say is that it was _nice?"_

"What should I say?"

Rassa gesticulated wordlessly, struggling to express herself. In the end she just laughed and shoved his shoulder. Sandor sniggered silently too.

"If I'm honest." He said when they had both recovered. "I really didn't think you'd do it. I thought you'd scream at me to get out and hit me with your shoe again."

"I had considered it."

"What changed your mind?"

"You asked politely."

"Only because you looked like you were going to cry."

"Because you were bullying me."

"I wasn't bullying you!" He exclaimed, taken aback. "I was…urging you. Is it so unbelievable that a monster might like a song every once in a while?"

"Oh come now." Rassa laid a hand on his arm. "I never said you were a monster."

"You don't have to. I know what I am."

Rassa put a hand to his cheek. His scars felt smooth and soft under her fingers. She gently ran her finger along one, tracing its path across his face. Sandor turned to look at her, brow furrowed and eyes questioning. "It's just a scar." She muttered. "All I see when I look at you is a man with a scar."

"You've seen worse." He repeated.

"Far worse. And on a much worse man."

"There's no one worse than me."

"Don't be silly!" She assured him. "How many times have I crossed you in the past twenty-four hours? And in that time how many times did you raise a hand to harm me?"

"I wasn't calm with you, neither, if you'll recall."

"I can forgive that." She kissed his scarred cheek softly.

Sandor breathed in sharply and turned to her. Rassa reached up and brushed his long black hair out of his face, pulling him closer to her. He responded in kind, placing his strong hands on her waist and drawing her easily along the smooth wood of the bench. Rassa pressed her lips to his, tentatively at first, then more confidently when she felt Sandor reciprocate. She covered his mouth in delicate kisses, breathing deeply when he sucked her lip greedily and pressed his mouth firmly against hers. Heat pulsed through her body and flushed her cheeks, leaving her partially breathless but Rassa cared not. Instead she coiled her arms around Sandor's neck and entwined her fingers in his hair. Sandor wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. His breathing was laboured to, and Rassa felt his low hum of pleasure as she tugged his lips and grazed his mouth with her tongue.

A sharp knock on the door made her spring away.

"Rassa?"

_Jorro. Oh please don't come in._

"I'm getting changed!" She called. Could he hear her voice quaver?

"I'll wait."

"No!" She almost screamed, but Rassa willed her voice to stay calm. "I can't decide what to wear. Just head on down and I'll meet you in the Small Hall!"

She heard Jorro grumble outside the door. "Alright, I'll save you a seat."

Rassa sighed with relief at the sound of receding footsteps. She jumped up and pulled Sandor to the door. "You have to go!"

"But I want to help you undress." He smiled cheekily.

"Oh shut up!" She opened the door and shoved him out.

"Red." He said as she was about to slam the heavy wooden slab in his face.

"What?"

"Wear something red."

She pulled as one of her deep crimson locks. "Don't you think that would be too much?"

"I think you would turn heads, if that's what you mean."

Rassa blushed. "I'll consider it."


	2. Chapter 2

Rassa donned her red dress, as Sandor had requested. Truth be told, it was her favourite, with a deep red satin front flanked by soft velvet, an embroidered neckline, bell sleeves and a belt of slender silver medallions that sat just above her hips. In her hair she wore a silver net set with white crystals and upon her right hand she wore a silver ring made in the fashion of a climbing rose bush that reached as far as her knuckle, decorated with small red garnets. When she looked in the long looking-glass perched against the wall beside the door she saw a lady. Not a bastard of Braavos, but a white-haired, blue-eyed lady of the Seven Kingdoms.

It took her all her willpower not to hide in her room for the rest of the night. Though she looked the part, Rassa knew she was not a noble or a member of any house. Everyone else at the feast would know that too, she knew, and those that did not would be told. She knew heads would turn in her direction and words would be whispered into prying ears. Someone was bound to try to humiliate her. And then there was her _father_. He would be seated at one of the high tables, indulging in the best cuts and wines, and pretended that she was not there while she sat with the rest and listened to their sniggering. Still, she was expected, and she had awaited this night for months, so in the end she screwed her courage to its sticking place and found her way to the Tower of the Hand.

* * *

><p>The Small Hall was abuzz with activity when she arrived. Though the long tables were not entirely full, there was upwards of one hundred people at the banquet, all feasting and drinking merrily, and making quite a deal of noise. Servers rushed about with flagons of wine and ale, the girls hardly ever making it to the end of a row before being pulled into the lap of a libidinous man. She dodged around all the hustling bodies, making for her brother's fiery head. He had managed to find a seat relatively close to the high tables, which was good. She would have a good view of her father and half-siblings, but it also meant evading the grasping hands of drunken guests.<p>

"C'mere girl!" One old geezer called, snatching at her skirts as she hurried past him. Others followed his example, recognising her as Lord Richard's mistake.

"That's the one from the Braavosi pleasure house!"

"Little whore teach me some tricks!"

"How many dragons!"

She plonked down beside Jorro, who was gorging himself on stuffed partridge.

"You made it!" He cheered, butter running down his chin. "Have something to eat!"

He lifted a thick slice of flesh from the bird in front of him.

"The wine's good too!" He clapped at one of the serving girls and she filled Ressa's cup with a rich red. "And try these potatoes!" He spooned a mountain of them out in front of her.

"Alright Jorro!" She could not help laughing at him. "I can dish my own food."

"I'm sure you can, but I want to do it for you!"

"How much wine have you had?"

"Some." He dropped some peas onto her plate. "Eat! It's the best food I've ever tasted!"

Rassa had to agree with her brother on that part. The partridge was tender and juicy, the peas fresh and crisp and the potatoes were soft and steaming and garnished with chopped onion. She poured thick red gravy over the lot and did not care how unladylike she looked as she shovelled it into her mouth. The wine was heavenly, too, wonderfully spiced and dry. She had two cups with her food and a further three when she was done. Soon she and Jorro were making merry like all the other guests, and when the pudding came they made a competition of trying as many as they could stomach. Rassa won, of course. Jorro always thought he could eat more because he was a man, but she had an appetite that could hardly be sated. Eventually he lurched off to relieve himself and she was left to giggle to herself over his foolishness.

* * *

><p>It was one of the guards that ruined her mood. He strode across the aisle between their benches and nudged her roughly on the shoulder. "Bastard girl." He slurred. "I could do with someone to warm my bed tonight."<p>

She did not respond.

"Oi! I'm talking to you, wench." This time he shoved her so roughly that her face nearly hit the table. Rassa looked to her father for help, but he was busy speaking to a man across from him and pretending he could see her over his shoulder.

The guard dropped down into her brother's seat and shoved her shoulder so that she was facing him. "You won't get away with disrespecting me, whore!"

Rassa stood up and stepped over the bench, swiping his hand away as he made a grab for her ankle. She turned and marched down the aisle, but he grabbed he wrist from behind and tried to yank her into him.

"Leave me alone!" She protested, trying to tug free.

He lumbered forward, other hand out to touch her, but he never got that far. Rassa's fist swung up and landed square in the middle of his nose. He cried out in pain and staggered backwards, covering his nose with both hands. When he looked down and saw the blood spilling through them, Rassa saw the rage building in him. She backed away a few steps, then turned and ran for the door. She just made it out of the Small Hall, with the guard lurching after her, when she crashed into a large figure.

The other man grabbed her and Rassa struggled against him. But instead of molesting her, he placed her behind him and moved between her and her assailant.

"Bugger off, Hound!" The guard bellowed. "That one's mine!"

"Not from where I'm standing." Clegane challenged.

The guard made to draw his sword, but this time it was Sandor Clegane's fist that met his face. The guard did not cry out, he just crumpled to the floor, his nose smashed in and his eyes rolling.

* * *

><p>Once again, the Hound escorted Rassa back to her chamber. He stayed silent as they crossed the grounds, but as they climbed the stairs to her room he turned to her.<p>

"That guard…"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. I'm sorry I didn't intervene sooner I-"

"Didn't want to be seen defending a whore?"

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

He did not respond. He just hung his head and kept walking.

"I don't blame you."

His head snapped back up. "What?"

"I understand why you didn't come. It's alright I don't blame you."

"You don't blame me?"

"You're a member of an honoured house, you can't be associated with the likes of me."

"Now listen here!" He stepped towards her, swaying slightly. He had had his fair share of wine, too. "_Bugger_ honoured houses. My brother comes from an honoured house, too, and I couldn't give a rat's arse who he associates me with!"

"You have a brother?" She did not want to say what was really in her mind.

"Yes. The Mountain. Maybe you heard of him?" She nodded. Clegane pointed to his mutilated face. "_This _is his handiwork. It's people like _him_ I don't want to be associated with. I was waiting to see how you would handle Lord Grendick on your own."

"And?"

"You've got a good left arm."

They both laughed at that. When they turned to proceed up the stairs Rassa staggered slightly and Sandor caught her with a horse snicker. "Had some of the king's wine tonight, did you?"

She put her arm around his waist. "Only five cups."

"_Five_?" Sandor lurched backwards and had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"Please don't pull me into an early grave." Rassa giggled.

"Never, my sweet Birdy."

The two of them trudged up the rest of the stairs with an arm around the other. When they reached the door to her room Sandor pulled her to him and gave her a tight squeeze. When he finally loosened his grip, Rassa looked up to say 'goodnight', but was silenced as Sandor pressed his lips roughly to hers.

Rassa returned his kiss hungrily, taking his face her hands and attacking his lips with unconstrained desire. Sandor grunted and yanked her hips up against his. Even through all that mail and boiled leather she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She could feel something else too… his growing desire. Sandor bit down hard on her lower lip, Rassa gasped and covered his mouth entirely with hers. He hummed with satisfaction, slipping his thick tongue between her lips. She sucked on it savagely, massaging it with her own talented tongue. Sandor moaned aloud and pushed her back against the wall. His mouth left hers to leave a trail of wet kisses on her neck. Rassa whimpered, waves of ecstasy rolling over her as he began to roam his hands over her body. He ran his hands along the curve of her hips and stomach before drawing them down her back and grasping her buttocks greedily. Rassa made a small sound and Sandor looked up into her eyes he removed one had from her rear and drew it around to her bosom, as he tauntingly brushed her lips with his own, he slipped his fingers daringly down the front of her bodice, feeling her warm flesh as he kneaded her teats roughly. Rassa blushed and moaned, tracing his lips with her thumb and gazing into his eyes.

"You like it?" He rasped. She nodded, the ghost of a 'Yes' falling from her lips as his touches coaxed her yearning.

"RASSA!"

Her brother's voice boomed down the hall. Rassa and Sandow groaned in unison at the intrusion and begrudgingly disentangled themselves.

"What are you doing!" Jorro wrenched Sandor away from his sister, but only because Clegane let him. "Get away from her!"

"Jorro!" Rassa shoved her brother. "_Get lost_!"

Jorro swayed. "B-but he was _all over you_!"

"That's the point!" Sandor growled.

She glared at her brother. She did not know what to say to him. She was not sure she had _anything_ to say to him at that moment.

"Oh come on sister!" Jorro patted her cheek. "You can do better than him! And they'd probably pay more, too!"

"Pay more? _PAY MORE_!" Rassa's rage boiled over and let loose like a tidal wave. "You think I'm like _MOTHER_? You think I'd _WHORE _myself? Mother sold me to countless men, and I had no say in the matter! Unlike… unlike… _YOU!_"

"Me!" Jorro stepped backwards.

"YOU!" She roared. "You've whored yourself since you were _ten_! I thought I was _saving _you when I pulled you out of that house, but all I was doing was taking out of your ideal environment! You think I didn't know! You think I didn't wonder where you got all that money you hid in your mattress! If anyone took after mother it's _you!_"

Jorro did not say another word. He turned and slunk away down the long hallway and up the narrow stair without once looking at her. When he was gone Rassa instantly regretted her outburst. She turned to Sandor, guilt sticking in her throat. He shuffled awkwardly, clearly unsure what to do.

"That was horrid of me." She stated hoarsely.

Sandor coughed.

"Perhaps you should go."

"I think so too." He agreed. He took a few steps away before turning back to her. "What you said may have hurt him, but your brother has no right to interfere with your personal matters so."

Rassa nodded wordlessly and he departed.

* * *

><p>When she awoke the next day, Rassa silently prayed that the events of the night before had been a dream. Unfortunately, as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she spotted Dunda sprawled against the skirting from when she had flung him in frustration. She picked him up gingerly and hugged him close. "I'm sorry." She whispered, squeezing him tightly. Jorro would be harder to apologise to, the things she had said were unforgiveable. Not only had she criticised his personal life, she had done so right in front of Sandor Clegane, a relative stranger to him. <em>And to me. Why did I attack my own brother so viciously for the sake of a man I only met two days ago?<em> She and Jorro had stuck together through thick and thin. He was her best friend, her only friend and her blood. Sandor was right, he did not have the right to preach who she should involve herself with, but he still had not deserved what she said.

"He was just trying to protect me." Rassa explained to her ragged little companion.

She found Jorro's door and tapped shyly at the polished wood. There was no reply. She knocked again once, twice, three times. After the fourth attempt she gave up; he had either gone out, or was not ready to speak to her. Instead she went for a walk in the gardens.

The judging eyes of high lords and ladies followed her throughout the grounds of the Red Keep. Rassa even tried to retire to the Godswood, but her visit was cut short by the arrival of a dozen holy men and their followers, who had come to conduct some sort of ritual. Instead she rambled around Kingslanding. The winding maze of streets and blooming markets helped push her worries from the fore of her mind, as she became engrossed in the activity all around her. As the day drew on, however, she found her legs growing weary and turned back.

* * *

><p>Droplets of rain soon began to fall from the sky in a heavy, lethargic drizzle, causing Rassa to pick up her pace. She passed under the main portcullis and wound around the castle to the servants' entrance here the paving was uneven and sported huge gaps and indentation where impressive pools of water had already begun to gather. She scurried into the tower and was about to begin her ascent of the narrow stairway when a movement near the doorway caught her eye.<p>

It was a little green frog, about the size of the palm of her hand. It had wandered through the threshold and was currently splashing about in the puddle that had gathered between the door and the step in front of her. Quick as a fox, Rassa reached down and scooped him up. She liked frogs. Her and her brother used to play with the many different coloured frogs that gathered in the gutters of Braavos City. _Jorro will like you._

She reached the guards' floor and almost skipped down the hallway to her brother's chamber. _He'll like you_. She thought, admiring the little frog in her hands. He was surprisingly calm and after the initial struggle seemed to lose interest in leaping from her grasp. _Cute little frog. You need a name_.

She was so intent on the creature that she walked headlong into the mass of boiled back leather coming towards her. Rassa looked up and grinned at the puzzled face of Sandor Clegane.

"Watch where you're going!" He grumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist all the same.

The frog wriggled and Rassa clamped her hands firmly over him. Sandor peered down inquisitively. "What've you got there?"

"A frog." She answered, smiling sweetly at him. She was not sure a frog was a welcome visitor to the castle.

"A _frog_?" He frowned at her. "Why would you bring a frog in here?"

"I wanted to show Jorro."

"A peace offering?"

"You could say that."

"Let me see." Sandor opened her fingers gently and chuckled at the small animal cupped in her hands. He stroked the frog's back softly with one finger. "Well I can't see how he could stay angry at you."

Rassa smiled and stood on her toes to kiss him. Sandor kissed her sweetly back. The frog saw its chance and sprang from her open hands.

"Ahh! Fredrick no!" She cried, dashing after the bouncing green blur.

She heard Sandor's barking laugh behind her. "Fredrick? What sort of name is that for a frog?"

Rassa shot him a scowl. "Why, what would you call him? Fredrick leaped away from her and she crawled across the hall after him.

"Gregor."

"Gregor? For a frog?" She looked at him and was taken aback by the genuine look of fear that had spread across his face.

Enormous arms hefted her up from the floor, crushing her against what felt like a giant's body. Rassa shrieked and tried to wriggle free, kicking her legs against what felt like a mass of stone behind her.

"Who's your playmate little brother?" A voice like a landslide rumbled from just beside her ear. Rassa whimpered and began to struggle even more, but the arms around her waist contracted, squeezing the air – no, the life – out of her.

"GREGOR LEAVE HER BE!" Sandor bellowed. There was panic in his voice and terror in her face. Rassa felt fear creep through her like ice.

"What, and let you have all the fun?" Gregor's voice jeered. "She's a pretty one alright, I can't blame you." He plunged his enormous hand down her bodice and grabbed her breast so painfully that tears sprang to Rassa's eyes. "Ooooh she likes that. Hear how she moans, brother?"

"You're no brother of mine." Sandor snarled eyes ablaze and sword in hand. "Now. PUT HER DOWN!"

"I don't think I will." Gregor began to grind his hips up against Rassa's buttocks. She could feel him through his leather breeches. She closed her eyes and willed it to stop. When he slobbered on her neck with his thick tongue she thrashed her head and sobbed. "Put me down." She pleaded weakly.

"PUT. HER. DOWN!" Sandor roared, his heavy footsteps drawing closer.

"Alright." Gregor threw Rassa against the wall. Her head collided the stone with such force that she thought it was going to burst. She fell limply to the floor, unable to move but willing herself to stay awake. She saw Gregor and Sandor circling each other, Sandor's eyes ablaze with fury and Gregor's with brutal menace. Between their feet she saw the frog hopping towards her and somehow managed to summon the strength to reach out for it. She vaguely recalled a THUD as Gregor's foot came down mere millimetres away from her fingertips. Rassa looked up and saw him grinning sadistically, then looked back down at the bloody mess that was left of poor Fredrick. She whined loudly and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Rassa did not see what happened. She tried opening her eyes at one point and only saw a black blur moving towards her. Then she felt herself being listed. She looked up and tried to focus the face above her, only to find herself fading away again. _Please don't be Gregor_.

* * *

><p>She came to in her bed, still dressed, with the covers tucked tidily around her. Rassa sighed with relief, so it had not been Gregor. She cast her eyes around the dim room, turning her head with great effort and wincing from the pain. There was a figure hunched in the wooden chair in the far corner. A sword belt lay on the bench next to the virginal as well as a black cloak, a boiled leather jerkin laid over a chainmail vest and a pair of gloves. Below the bench was a pair of large black boots.<p>

The figure in the corner gave a loud snore and jerked his head up. He passed a hand lightly over his face and righted himself in the chair before trying to sleep again. Rassa giggled. He stirred slightly. "Sandor." She called softly. He snapped awake so quickly that she wondered if he had really been asleep.

"Rassa?" He hurried over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you alright?" He laid is hand on her forehead, then cupped her cheek.

"I'm fine." She smiled weakly. "A little sore but I'll live."

"I'm sorry I let him hurt you." Sandor pressed his lips together tightly, seething with anger. "I should have killed him. My brother –"

"Is the man that destroyed your face when you were just a child." Rassa put her hand on his leg. "He's a bad person, and you don't have to feel responsible for his actions."

"But he – he would have…" Sandor struggled to find the right words. "It doesn't bear thinking about, what he would have done to you…"

"It doesn't." She concurred. "That's why I'm glad you were there."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, her lips, when he moved to kiss her hand she looked over his shoulder and laughed. He looked at her and covered her mouth to supress her cackles. She lifted her arm, pointing into the corner, at the chair where he had been dozing.

"Is that…" She gasped. "…is that _Dunda?_"

Sandor spotted the dog where he had left it and turned as crimson as Rassa's hair. He went over and picked up the raggedy dog, sending her into further cahoots of muffled laughter.

"He was on the floor next to your bed." He explained as Rassa curled up in a chortling ball. "I – I… uh…" Rassa snorted and he began to laugh himself. "Oh shut up! I like dogs!"

Rassa reached out and grabbed his tunic, pulling him back over. He sat on the bed and handed Dunda to her. "No!" She urged, trying to push it back into his hands. "I'm sorry, you can hold him." There was mirth in her voice, though she really meant it.

"I'd rather hold you." He leaned over and kissed her, his own face illuminated by a sweet smile.

Rassa moved over in the bed and pulled the covers back. Sandor crawled in beside her and put an arm around her waist. She turned in and nuzzled into his chest, indulging in his musky scent. She felt him kiss the top of her head and run his fingers timidly through her hair. She sighed deeply and murmered. "Goodnight, Sandor."

"Goodnight Rassa." He replied. "Don't worry; I'll keep the monsters away."

* * *

><p>Rassa woke the next morning to find Sandor already gone. On the table next to her bed was a plate of food; three strips of crisp bacon, a boiled egg, some blood pudding and two plump sausages. Beside it was a note:<p>

_Build up your strength. I will come to see you again this evening._

_-Sandor_

Her father came to visit her that afternoon. He wrung his hands awkwardly as he sat on the bench across from her.

"Have you seen Jorro lately?" He asked.

Rassa's heart fluttered. "Jorro? The last time I saw him was the night of the feast."

Her father nodded. "I thought so. He spent all of yesterday in a brothel."

Rassa did not have to be told what he had been doing. "And?"

"He returned early this morning." Her father continued. "Rassa, I've got some bad news…"

When Sandor returned that evening Rassa fell into his arms, her body heaving with sobs.

"_Rassa!_" He lifted her chin and looked into her bloodshot eyes. "What's happened? Has Gregor –"

"No!" She interjected. "It's worse than that!"

"Worse?"

"It's Jorro!" She wept. "Jorro… He's sick. He's so very, very sick."

Sandor led her over to the bed and sat down beside her, holding her hands. She always felt so small in his grip. "What is it?"

"They say it's syphilis." Her voice was thick and trembling. "They say he's had it for a long time. Today he just rode into the yard and fell right off his horse, raving and feverish. They say he won't live much longer… _Jorro_…"

"Rassa." It was all he could muster. Sandor coiled his strong arms around her and held her close. What else could he do?


	3. Chapter 3

Jorro remained bedridden. His condition had declined so quickly that he could not easily be moved. The king had extended to Richard Arryn his hospitality, his staff, and his blessings. Rassa had been present when he told her father his castle was at his service. Rassa had fallen to her knees and kissed his ring, sobbing. Though the king laughed, there was empathy in his voice when he told her to rise.

All the hospitality in the world did not help her brother, unfortunately. Every time Rassa saw him he seemed to have edged further into the grave. It was the lesions that scared her first. When the hunched old maester came to look at him, he opened Jorro's shirt, revealing countless angry sores and boils all over his body. Rassa wondered that she had never seen any. _His face._ She reminded herself. _He always has little cuts on his face. I should have seen it, I should have known. But they are nothing compared to this._ The maester turned over his hands, indicating to her father the reddish rash on his palms.

"An allergy." Her father said blankly. "Our maester said it was an allergy…"

The other man shook his head sadly. "His condition has been rather latent, but it has been degrading for quite a number of years, quietly and rapidly. He probably knew he had it, and worked to conceal it. His behaviour has probably become more erratic over the years, has it?"

Rassa shook his head. "He got quieter. I thought he was just growing up."

"Yes." Her father agreed, his face changing at the sudden realisation. "He has become a lot quieter."

"He really was working hard not to worry you." The old man assured them. "If he had not collapsed he probably would have gone on until – "

"Until he died?" Rassa choked.

"Yes." The man smiled, though there was sadness in his eyes.

"How long?" Her father muttered.

"Not long now." He told them. "His collapse is symptomatic of degradation of the psyche. See how his legs and arms twitch and writhe sometimes? Soon fits will take him. They will keep coming until one finishes him."

"He'll die soon?" Rassa could feel her heart splitting.

"I have no doubt." He affirmed. "Sometimes it takes years, or decades. But in light of such a rapid decline, I think his end will come soon enough. I'm sorry."

Her father and the maester left soon afterwards. Rassa sat in the chair next to Jorro and took his hand. He looked at her with a smile. "He talks about me like I'm not here."

"I know." Rassa could not smile. When she sat next to him and saw his withering body, suddenly she forgot how to smile.

"No use speaking to a dead man." His back spasmed sharply, making him arch up off the bed for a split second before dropping him back down, and he gave a small gasp of pain.

"Don't say things like that." Rassa implored.

"Sister." He sighed. "I'm going to die. And I'm going to die soon. I may be gone by the time the sun rises tomorrow. The spasms are getting worse –"

"Shhhh." Rassa pressed his hand to her lips. She could not bear to hear it.

"Rassa." His voice was strangely bold. "I'm glad it's happening quickly."

Rassa almost hit him. She almost screamed. She almost ran out of that room, swearing not to return. Instead she nodded. Though she did not want her brother to die, she understood that he would prefer a quick death to one that lasted years. In his position she would pray for the same.

"I know it's horrible." There were tears in Jorro's eyes now. "I know. I've had to live with it. I didn't tell you because I couldn't bear it if my last years with you were filled with tears. I wanted to be able to see you smile. To make you smile without guilt or sorrow in your eyes. I'm sorry I never told you. But I don't regret it."

"I don't blame you." Rassa replied wholeheartedly. "And I don't regret it either. I'm glad we spent such happy years together."

Jorro yawned. "Just one more thing before I sleep."

"Yes?"

"Your friend. Did I scare him away that night?"

"No." Rassa had all but forgotten his last encounter with Sandor Clegane. "No you didn't."

"Is he good to you?"

"He's watched over me every night since his brother assaulted me." Even on his deathbed, Rassa did not keep anything from Jorro.

"That's good." Jorro agreed. "If he's good, sister, do me a favour."

"Anything." Rassa swore.

"Stay with him. Marry him if you can, elope if you cannot. Have children, love them. Be happy." He paused, a smile passing over his dry lips. "And name one after me."

Rassa laughed through her tears. "I will Jorro. I promise. I'll name the dogs and the pigs and the chickens after you, too."

He chortled, though his hand had begun to tremble violently in Rassa's. "Alright, fuck off. I'm tired."

* * *

><p>She was already in bed when Sandor tiptoed into her room. Rassa turned and watched him struggle out of all the belts, leathers and mail that bound his body. He sat on the piano bench to remove his boots and smiled at her watching him silently. "I thought you were asleep."<p>

"Not tonight." Rassa had found sleep hard to come by lately. Lying awake listening to his breath in her ear was comfort enough for her. Her dreams brought her no respite, and she rued every light doze she fell into.

Sandor wrestled out of his riding breeches with the same string of curses that never failed to bring a smile to Rassa's face. She knew he did it just to make her smile. He looked up and winked. It was funny, all that black and heavy leather made him look so formidable, but when he took it all off and sat there in a simple white tunic and plain linen underpants, he just looked like any other man.

He shoved her, playfully making her roll up against the wall before flopping down beside her. Rassa pulled the covers up over him and laid her head on his chest. Sandor squeezed her gently.

"Jorro?" He inquired simply.

"Dying." She answered thickly.

"I'm sorry." He nuzzled his face into her hair, kissing her head. "Are you alright?"

"I have been a lot better, I can tell you that honestly." She replied, her voice strangely vacant. "I feel a lot better than before though, for some reason. For some reason _knowing_ has expelled all of my worries."

"No one likes being left in the dark."

"No." She looked up at him and smiled for the second time that day. She kissed his neck, his jaw, his lips. Sandor slipped his hand down her back, deepening their kiss. His presence made her feel safe; his embraces made her feel like everything was fine. In the past few days, Rassa had felt her need to be close to him increasing, even as Jorro's health deteriorated. At first it made her feel guilty, thinking of letting this man take her while her brother lay dying in the very same tower, but as the days crept on her need to feel close to another human being began to eat at her, and the thought of her best companion slipping away only increased her longing.

* * *

><p>Rassa pressed her mouth harder against Sandor's, stroking his leg with her own and letting her fingers wander across his sculpted chest. She felt his hand tentatively wander down to her thigh, slipping slickly under the light fabric of her slip. The feeling of his rough, heavy hand against her bare skin made her breathing quicken. Sandor broke their kiss and nuzzled her fondly. She met his gaze shyly, playing with the strings of his tunic.<p>

"You want…?" Sandor licked his lips nervously. "Are you sure?"

Rassa nodded slowly, tugging the loose knot open. "Yes …I am sure."

In all the nights they had slept next to each other, Sandor had never made a move on her, now he pushed her over onto her back and attacked her in a flurry of savage kisses. Rassa whimpered loudly against his mouth, pulling him firmly against her. The feeling of his body on top of her was unparalleled; he was so heavy but at the same time felt so safe, warm and right. He slid his hands down her body, slipping her gown off her shoulders and down, leaving her completely naked in one smooth movement. He pulled her bottom lip roughly with his teeth before slipping his tongue into her mouth. Rassa moaned into the kiss and slipped her hands away from his chest and around his neck, encouraging him to spoil her with his mouth.

His hands spoiled her as well. He cupped her breasts lustily and fondled them rougtly, squeezing and kneading them and leaving her breathless. He removed his mouth from hers and watched her as he slid his hands down away from her bosom, tickling her ribs as they heaved beneath him and gently stroking her flat stomach. He moved his hands around her, nudging under her impatiently before cupping her buttocks. With an impish grin he clasped her behind tightly. The feeling made her gasp and giggled at the same time. His grin lengthened and he raised her easily by the buttocks. He looked down and witnessed her bare sex poised between his legs and Rassa saw that he coloured slightly at the sight before moving his hips to grind against her. She stifled a loud moan with her hand and wriggled against him. She could feel his hardening member very distinctly through the thin linens he wore. The sensation sent a shudder through her and she bit back her need to whimper and moan. Sandor saw her struggling and laughed.

"Don't be shy, Rassa." He urged, kissing her neck. "I want to hear you."

"You might, but I have doubts about the people in the other rooms." She struggled to get the words out between her heaving gasps.

A devious glint appeared in his eyes and Rassa knew that he did not give a rat's ass about who might hear them. He removed a hand from her back and slipped it deftly between her legs, stroking and teasing her outer folds. Rassa whimpered, her hips twitching upward in search of his touch. Sandor sniggered and pushed his thumb up against her nub, massaging it slowly.

"Ahhhhh..." Rassa closed her eyes as his ministrations sent a wave of pleasure rolling across her body. She heard Sandor chuckle and mention something about the neighbours before slipping a long finger into her. She groaned, hips moving gently against his digit, which had set out to explore every inch of her, stroking her walls gently even as its partner tortured her outer parts. Presently, Sandor struck a particularly sensitive spot and Rassa thrust into his hand with a small cry. He covered her mouth with his, which was still bent into a playful grin. Rassa reached down and greedily pressed his hand against her, writhing into it in a desperate bid for relief. Sandor plucked her hand away and held it be her side. "Don't be so impatient." He instructed hoarsely. He kissed her neck and collarbone and Rassa laid her head back, enjoying her position. He sucked and nipped at her hardened nipples and lapped at her undulating breasts, leaving wet trails down them. He kissed her ribs and her stomach and her hips, making her twitch and giggled and sigh all together. He kissed her mottled and heated thighs. When he removed his thumb from her sex Rassa's utterance of protest did not even reach her lips before he replaced it with his mouth.

She lay back and allowed her body to relax as Sandor spoiled her with his mouth and hands. He licked and sucked hungrily at her little cluster of nerves, sending minute spasms of ecstasy up through her, while his finger worked on her deeper pleasure centre. Soon he added his second finger, pressing mercilessly at her core and eliciting loud baritone moans that would have shamed her if she had the sense to care. He was infinitely patient, Rassa could help observing. His own desire was clearly showing through his linens, yet he would not remove himself from her sex until she was satisfied.

* * *

><p>He did not have to wait too long. Soon Rassa lost control of her body, allowing it to surge against his mouth and fingers as the compressed sensation in her groin released in a shuddering wave of pleasure. Rassa cried out loud, her legs and arms trembling, useless additions to her tingling body.<p>

Sandor was there: hovering over her, kissing her face and neck. He kissed her warmly and she could taste herself. She recoiled from him. "I'm on your lips." She laughed.

He smiled back, still trying to catch her mouth. "You taste good, trust me."

"Don't be disgusting."

"So sweet." He grabbed her face roughly and kissed her sloppily. Rassa giggled and resisted at first, until he decided to kiss her properly. It was surprising how well a man with half his lips burned off could kiss, but Rassa had learned quickly that Sandor did not do anything half-heartedly, and kissing was no exception. He put all of his passion and all of his rage into every movement of his mouth, overcoming her until she became heated and prone in his arms.

Rassa hummed contentedly against his mouth. But she still wanted more, she tugged sharply at the strings of his tunic, loosening the neck, then crept her way down to the hem of the garment and tugged subtly. Sandor raised himself off her and she eagerly whipped it over his head. His torso was a sight to behold; lean and muscular and punctuated by regular scars from his years as a sword. A sparse covering of black hair lay across his chest, with a thin line trailing down into his underpants, inviting her to look at the considerable tent in the linen. She trailed her hands over the length and breadth of his upper body as he lavished her neck and shoulder line with attention. His skin was soft and warm, his muscles firm and the black hair on his chest proved fun to play with; it was fine and not particularly long, but he jumped and twitched depending on how hard she tugged it. Still, he was a man, and not without his flaws. Rassa raised an eyebrow at him and laughed as she clutched his little deposits of fat. Sandor just rolled his eyes.

Eventually, her hands grew tired of this new region. Rassa grew eager to see what his lower half looked like. She trailed her fingers along his waistline. Sandor shuddered, but did not protest, so she slipped her hands zealously into his linens. She caressed his hips and as much of his ripped thighs as she could reach. She cupped his behind, provoking a harsh grunt. Sandor had stopped kissing her now; instead he leaned on one arm and observed her as she explored his body. There was only one part left to touch, they both knew that. When Rassa looked at him, she almost thought she saw a glimmer of apprehension in his eyes. She slipped one hand around his hip and shyly teased the side of his member with it. Sandor shivered but did not utter a sound, he was intent upon her. Rassa moved his fingers over his length, wrapping them around his engorged sex. She held him tightly and moved her hand in a slow, confident stroke. Sandor breathed deeply and let his hips move against the motion. When she reached his base, Rassa released him, seeking to explore his other parts as well. She could not help noting the look on his face with some amusement; clearly Westerosi girls did _not_ treat the testicles in this fashion. She cupped them gently in her hand and used her fingers to carefully manipulate them. Sandor lowered his head and bit his lip against his heavy breathing. He clearly did not know how to react to this, but he certainly did not find it unpleasant.

* * *

><p>Rassa let go of his parts. She had had enough of playing. She forced his hips upwards. Sandor complied and allowed her to pull his pants down and cast them aside. It was shocking how being naked could make anyone seem vulnerable. Sandor Clegane was a large, intimidating man, yet the sight of him naked reminded Rassa that under it all he was still very human. Even his penis, which was large and almost rigid at this point, seemed strangely delicate. His demeanour did not help. Rassa kissed his cheek and pulled him against her, but he still seemed slightly lost. "Are you sure you want this?" There was a note in his voice she had never heard before.<p>

"Yes." She assured him, running a hand affectionately through his long hair. "Why? What is it?"

"It's just…" He blushed. "I-I don't believe I've ever had sex that hasn't paid for before."

Rassa laughed and kissed him. "Neither have I."

"Oh." Pressure alleviated, he kissed her back and poised his member at her entrance. Rassa reached between them and ardently pulled him in. He paused for a moment with only his tip inside her, gathering himself. When he finally pushed his member all the way in Rassa broke their kiss with a gasp. "Did I hurt you?"

"No!" Rassa replied urgently, holding his hips against hers lest he should retract his offer. "_No._"

Sandor began to move within her, his thick member spoiling her walls, making Rassa vocalise carelessly. It was amazing how good sex could feel when you wanted it. Sandor Clegane was neither considerably skilled nor considerably well endowed, yet when he was inside her she was filled with warmth and a sense of bliss the like of which she had never felt before. Her heart swelled and her body quickened at his every touch. She never wanted it to end.

Sandor picked up a steady rhythm and Rassa soon followed his example. When she lifted her hips to meet his the first time he jolted and moaned loudly, obviously impressed by her enthusiasm. He gripped her hips and guided her against him, Rassa did likewise, pushing his buttocks down, encouraging him to be bolder. He picked that up quickly and deepened his thrusts, arching his back dramatically before curving into her, hitting that sweet spot clumsily and making her whisper her praise. As she grew warmer, she quickened her pace, Sandor gasped at the sudden change in tempo, but soon caught up, leaning close over her neck like she were a galloping horse. His breathing was a scraping noise next to her ear, emphasised by spasmodic gasps, sigh and grunts.

* * *

><p>Rassa was drawing close to her end. She could feel it she made a sharp, frustrated sound and clawed desperately at his hips, urging him to go harder, faster, deeper. Sandor let out a whimper unbecoming of a man of his size and tended to her whims heartily. He had already been hitting her core with increasing precision, when he began to pound against it with renewed vigour; his increase in speed driving him straight against, Rassa wrapped her legs around him and called out. She did not know what she said; it could have been the name of some god, his name, or random gibberish, it did not matter. Sandor took no heed of it either; when Rassa looked at him she saw the growing desperation and strain in his face. He was hurtling towards the edge, taking her with him. She wrapped her legs around him as pulses of pleasure coursed violently through her, shaking her limbs and soon enough her entire body in a tingling torrent of joy. She moved quicker, quicker, with him, hearing his high pitched exclamations and watching his face crease and knot as he lost control of himself. Sandor soon let out a frustrated grunt and mercilessly drove himself into her, going faster, faster, faster. Rassa vaulted her hips up against him and moaned loudly in relief, reaching her climax first, Sandor hot on her heels. He issued a stifled roar thorough gritted teeth and Rassa felt his warm seed spill inside her. He trembled once, twice, three times, emitting "Ah-ahh"s of relief. He looked up, his face covered in a gathering sheen of sweat and smiled. Rassa kissed him, still hazy from her own orgasm. Sandor slipped out of her and lowered himself clumsily onto the bed beside her.<p>

As they cooled down, Sandor turned his head to her. "Did you, um." He licked his lips. "Was it good? Did you like it?"

Rassa snorted and pinched his nipple, making him yowl. "Did I not seem like I liked it?"

"Yes. I was just making sure." Sandor grumbled.

Rassa raised herself wearily and kissed him. "It was great."

He grinned cockily. "It was, wasn't it?"

She slapped his cheek lightly before nestling herself against him. He put an arm around her and was soon snoring, but Rassa never heard; she had already drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

"Remember the time we ran away with that acting group?" Jorro mused. Rassa had tried to prop him up with pillows, but a small fit had unseated him and flung his pillows onto the floor. Now he lay with his head lolling back on the bare mattress, drooling and staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes. A part of her died every time she saw him like this. Lately his wits had all but taken leave of him; he refused to eat or bathe and if left unguarded would oft be found roaming the halls of the castle murmuring and gibbering to himself. His yellowed eyes were sunk deep into their darkened sockets, his cheekbones stood out shockingly. When she bathed him Rassa's stomach lurched at the distinct outlines of his ribs and hips, covered by a tight film of greying flesh. He was a crazed walking corpse, in which not much was left of her brother, though he still had the odd moment of stark clarity.

This was one of those precious moments. "Yes." Rassa laughed. "We hopped in one of their wagons one afternoon in Braavos City and let them cart us away."

"They didn't even discover us until they were boarding the galley to Pentos." Jorro smiled at her, the light of reason dancing momentarily in his dulled eyes. "We were gone for over a year."

"We're lucky they weren't bandits disguised as showmen." Rassa shook her head, smiling. "We could have been killed."

"That was a good year."

"A very good year."

"It's a pity we were dragged straight back into the whorehouse when they returned to Braavos."

Rassa sighed at him. "You _know_ they had to send that bird to Mother. The gods know what would have happened to them otherwise."

"I know." Jorro reached over and tugged at a loose thread on the sleeve of her dress. "You've been dressing so prettily lately."

Rassa brushed her hair out of her face meekly. "I wanted to look nice."

"For your friend?"

"Partially." Sandor _did _seem to like the sight of her in a frock. "For you as well. I want my brother to remember that I could be pretty sometimes, haha. I don't want you only carrying memories of me in dirty tunics to the other lands."

"You don't need a dress to look beautiful, sister." Jorro grazed her hand with his fingertips and turned to lie on his back. "I wish I could have seen her before she died."

"Mother?" Rassa inferred. "I wish we could have seen her too."

"I wonder what she would say if she saw me like that."

"She would call you all the names under the sun. Then she would fall to her knees and cry and beg you not to die." Rassa assured him.

"I wonder."

"She was our mother." Rassa insisted. "She loved us, no matter what she did."

"You don't sound too certain, Rassa." She did not respond; Jorro knew her to well, she could not lie to him. "Can I meet him, your suitor?"

"My suitor?" Rassa laughed. "Jorro we can never –"

"No sister." Jorro shouted, making her jump in her seat. "Don't say that! Don't ever say that! You will find a way with him or…. I don't want you to die alone like me."

"You're not alone."

"Not entirely." Jorro agreed. "But I'm not surrounded by loved ones either."

"Don't dwell on such things, Jorro."

"I try not to."

An owl hooted outside; Rassa had never even noticed it getting dark.

"I want to sleep, sister."

"Of course." Rassa kissed his forehead and put his pillows back in place. As she lifted him up onto them and tucked the covers around him he began to babble to himself. The first time she had heard his gibberish Rassa had wept uncontrollably and had to leave the room. Now she just saw it as a sign that he needed to rest. "Goodnight Jorro."

When she was at the door she heard him mumble her name. She turned and saw he was watching her leave. "Don't forget about what I asked you. I asked you to… I ask… you… Rassa… hmm… hmmm…" He snored loudly and Rassa slinked out of the door.

* * *

><p>Sandor was already asleep by the time she returned to her own chamber. She stepped silently out of her gown and hung it carelessly over the piano bench next to his armour. Sandor gave a snore that half choked him and rolled onto his back. He was on the edge of the bed, with an empty expanse between him and the wall. Rassa was supposed to sleep there, but that meant either making him move or crawling over him.<p>

She chose the latter. She put one knee on the bed and swung the other gracefully over him. She would have to straddle him for a second, but that would not wake him – probably. When her second leg hit the mattress, however, Sandor muttered grumpily and rolled over, onto the aforementioned limb. Rassa opened her mouth in a silent wail of pain as the weight of such a large man came to rest on her dainty little calf. She could not make a move without first extracting it from under him. She hesitated, not wanting to risk waking him, but as her blood ceased its march into her crushed extremity, she decided his peaceful sleep was not worth losing her leg over.

She brought her arms down on either side of him and tugged her leg sharply to no avail. She tried to slide is gradually out from under him, but that just sent such a shooting pain through her that Rassa thought she was going to tear a ligament. She had to move him somehow. She nudged his shoulder; no response, she poked his ribs; he jolted a bit and groaned in protest, but did not move enough for her to free her leg. Eventually Rassa resorted to extreme measures. She pinched his nose closed tightly. When Sandor tried to inhale, he found himself smothering and woke up snorting and thrashing. _Bingo_. Rassa quickly pulled her partially numb leg out of the way and collapsed onto the bed.

"What the fuck was that for?" Sandor barked, sitting up. Even in the dark Rassa could tell that he was glaring at her.

"You were lying on my leg!"

"Maybe I wouldn't lie on your leg if you didn't clamber over me like that!"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to clamber over you if you would move over!"

"You always sleep in there!"

"But it's not a matter of life and death! I can sleep out here very happily, especially since it means keeping all my limbs!"

"Don't be so dramatic!"

"Who's being dramatic here you grumpy old ogre!"

"_Ogre!_" Sandor's pillow hit her in the face with a _whump_. Rassa went to pick up her own pillow, but he was faster; he pinned her down, deliberately using his bodyweight to crush her into the bed and holding her wrists firmly in place on either side of her head. When Rassa complained that he was too heavy he bounced cruelly, making her ribs buckle and effectively silencing her. "How is your brother?"

"Always worse." She wheezed. "He wants to meet you."

"Again?"

"Properly." Rassa corrected. "And this time I don't think he intends on trying to scare you away."

"He never scared me away."

"But he really _tried_."

"What are his intentions on this occasion?" Sandor inquired. He saw her hesitation. "_Rassa?_"

"I-I think he wants to make sure I'm keeping the right company." She replied vaguely.

"Only now?" Sandor scowled. "Only with me?"

Rassa nodded uncertainly.

"He wants to assess me, doesn't he?" Sandor finally realised. "He wants to make sure I'm the ideal suitor for his sister!"

"Suitor?" Rassa had to say it to him. "Sandor we can't even get married!"

"Why not!"

"Don't act stupid!" Rassa said impatiently. "You know as well as I do you can't marry someone of my… _breeding_."

"I shall marry whomever I like!" He spat.

"Oh really? And what will your father say to that?"

"Nothing. He has no say in the matter." He was so stubborn sometimes.

"You'll see." Rassa sighed.

"We will." Sandor grinned. "I'll go to him tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow?"_

"Your brother doesn't have much time, Birdy." He freed one of her hands in order to stroke her face. "He needs to know that you will be taken care of. If it were my sister I would want the same."

"You have a sister?" He had never mentioned her to Rassa before.

Sandor kissed her instead of replying.

"Sandor –" Another kiss stole the words from her mouth. She tried to inquire again and again but he just silenced her with his lips. And when he slipped his hand between her thighs she forgot what she was going to ask.

* * *

><p>The next morning he left in full confidence that he would talk his father into blessing their union. Rassa just sighed and waved him away; it was not worth arguing over, besides, he would be brought back to reality soon enough. She dressed for Jorro as she had done every day since he fell ill. She tried not to wonder how many times she would get to this. How many times before she had to shoulder a black dress… She sniffed and shook her head. <em>No<em>. She told those thoughts. _Be gone with you_.

Jorro was sitting up when she walked in, a tray of food laid across his rickety legs, with a fork poised thoughtfully in the air. He raised his head slowly as her shadow fell over him. The confusion in his eyes told her today was not a good day. Suddenly she felt exhausted.

"What is it?" Rassa wondered if he had forgotten how to eat.

"These rashers." He mumbled, focusing intently on his plate. "Why did we have to kill the pig?"

Rassa nearly laughed, but she had learned early enough not to mock his little moments; but realising that he did not mean them as jokes just broke her heart. "We killed it to feed you."

"But _why?"_ He implored

"I don't think he would be too happy if you ate him alive."

Jorro just stared blankly at his plate.

"Look, if I were that pig." It had worked when he was a kid, so Rassa resorted to her classic tactics to coax Jorro into eating. "I'm already dead, right?"

"Right."

"And if you don't eat my flesh, it's just going to rot, right?"

"Right."

"So if you refuse to eat me, then my sacrifice was in vain, right?"

"Right." Jorro stabbed a thick, crispy rasher with his fork and began to raise it.

"So if you don't eat me, that's pretty damn insulting!" Rassa declared triumphantly. "What, my meat isn't good enough for you? You'd rather let me rot?"

"No, Pig!" Jorro whined, shovelling the meat into his mouth. "I'm sorry I was so rude!"

"It's alright. I'll excuse your momentary moral dilemma." Rassa sat down and watched as Jorro devoured the rest of his breakfast. He offered her a sausage, which she happily nibbled, offering the occasional "Hmmm" or "Uh-huh" in response to his mindless babbling.

* * *

><p>Rassa was completely drained by the time she returned to her room that evening. Jorro had not regained his senses all day. He had even called her 'Mother' several times, and asked her where Rassa was. He had collapsed into three fits; one so bad that Rassa genuinely thought it would be the end of him. By the time she left he had lapsed into a catatonic state, simply staring at the ceiling, humming softly to himself.<p>

She flopped down onto the bed, wanting to curl up and scream and rave and cry until she choked. But she could not. She had lost all her energy for mourning. No matter how she tried all her rage and sorrow remained sealed up inside her. She stared in front of her instead, at the head of the bed, the stone wall, and the narrow slit of a window, catching a glimpse of the stars winking down at the world. _Jorro will die_. She thought. _He's withering like an old flower, rotting from the inside out. Whatever will I do without him?_

Rassa's mood had not improved by the time Sandor stomped through her door, unfortunately for him. He swung his sword belt against the wall, letting it strike the stone with a sharp _whump_ and slide to the floor. The rest of his clothing soon followed, falling carelessly to the floor accompanied by murmured curses. Rassa presumed the talk with his father had not gone well. Somehow, she failed to care.

Sandor sat on the bed beside her and shook her shoulder roughly. "_What?_" She snapped, making him jump; he had obviously thought she was asleep.

"I spoke with my father." He sighed.

"He wouldn't allow it." She did not need to be told.

"No." He replied, clearly disappointed.

"_How_ are you so surprised?" Rassa sat up, she really was in no mood for this. "_Honestly._ I'm a bastard. A _foreign_ bastard!"

"It doesn't matter!" Sandor shot back. "It shouldn't matter!"

"But it _does_, Sandor." Rassa threw her hands in the air. "That's the world we live in! IThe rules aren't going to change as you will it!"

"Do you want to marry me?" His words were barely audible.

"I do!" She shrugged. "But I can't. I know that. I accept that. It's time you did, too."

"We could elope."

"_No, _Sandor!" She could not cope with this, not now. "Just give up! Get married to a proper lady. If you want me you can have me, when your lady wife is not looking. Father heirs on her and bastards on me, but don't pin your hopes on me!"

"No." He shook his head, lip quivering in a way she had never seen before. "The children you bear me will never be bastards. I will not have that. They will be _mine_ _and yours_, true sons and daughters. Nothing less."

"Think on it Sandor." She said gently. Even with the rage of her brother's demise seething inside her, she could not bear to see him like this. He was tearing himself apart. "Go. Away from me. Consider what you're saying. Stifle your idealism. It will do us no good here."

"Rassa, I –"

"Please, just go." She shoved him away from her. For the longest moment he just stood there, eyes brimming, looking down at her. She felt her own lip begin to twitch and lay down on the bed facing the wall, willing him to leave, lest she change her mind. After a time she heard the awkward sounds of him redressing. He left without a word.

* * *

><p>Jorro was completely catatonic the next day. Rassa sent next to him for what felt like an eternity. She spoke of their childhood, of all the trouble they had gotten into on the streets of Braavos City. She spoke of their mother and her matron, and how they had both hated them so much that they ran away regularly. She spoke of Sandor, and all the trouble he caused her, and how she loved him in spite of it all. As she drew no response from his mindless form, she told him how much she loved him, how much she wished she could take his place, how she wished they could run away again, and how she wished their children would one day play together. When he still did not answer, Rassa left for the comfort of the outside world.<p>

She found herself once again seeking the shelter of the Heart Tree. She sat beside it and pressed her forehead to the rough bark. She begged for her brother, for Sandor and for his trueborn children. She had nothing to offer in return save her tears. Presently, voices coming through the Godswood roused her. One she did not recognise, but the other was most definitely that of her father's wife. She crept around to the opposite side of the immense tree and clambered up into its gnarled branches. It was the Long Summer, and the tree's limbs were swathed in dense foliage thick enough to hide a grown woman from the sight of those on the ground, but completely permeable to sound. Rassa crouched at the tree's core, silent as a shadow and perked her ears to the voices below.

"I cannot abide the presence of bastards, myself." A haughty voice proclaimed. "My heart goes out to you, having to share your very _home _with them. I would never have had it."

"My thanks, Your Grace." Her father's wife replied. "Truth be told, I never knew they would he held nearly as highly as my own children; a pair of gutter rats. A _whore's_ gutter rats, no less. I took pity on them when they came to our door. They were filthy and half-starved, the girl practically had to carry her brother the latter half of the way. I let them in, thinking they would stay until they were well enough to travel again."

"What a kind heart you have." The queen's voice lilted up.

"Too kind, your grace." Her father's wife sighed. "They stayed. And stayed. And stayed. I thought I would never be rid of them. I had to do something."

"And who would blame you, My Lady?" The queen tutted. "Such insolence, on their part as well as your husband's."

"Indeed, Your Grace." Her father's wife giggled. "But in the end I did not have to do anything. The blood will always show, as they say. When I took that man into my house I knew he had the illness, but I never forced the boy to sell himself to him. Greedy little sons of whores, they simply _cannot_ help themselves in the end."

"Oh you are so right!" The queen's laughter was like music. Music that invaded Rassa's ears and assaulted her brain until she thought she would burst. She gritted her teeth and stayed rigid until they left.

* * *

><p>Rassa did not know what to do. Should she tell her father? No, he would go to his wife. Sandor? But what could he do? She had nowhere to turn. She knew her father's wife would be after her, too. <em>I should go<em>. _But Jorro… _She could not leave him to die alone. Her father's wife undoubtedly knew that. This would be her moment to dispose of her as well. She could easily send her men to throw Rassa out the window and say it was a suicide. _She would say I was overcome with grief at my brother's death and everyone would believe her. Even Sandor_.

_Sandor_. Rassa broke into a run. _Did Jorro mention him to father? _

He was waiting for her at the servants' entrance. He smiled as she approached, though it did not reach his eyes.

"I thought it was time I met your brother." He announced. "Properly."

"No, Sandor –"

"I'm not saying it's as a suitor." He interrupted. "I just want to give him my word that I will look after you."

"Sandor I have to tell you –"

"Tell me later." He caught her by the arm and started to drag her up the stone steps. "I went by his room, to see if you were there. It seems he's awake, for a moment at least."

"Awake?" Rassa's heart soared. Every moment was precious with her brother when he was aware; because she never knew when he would fade and never return. She threw Sandor's hand off and sprang up the stairs.

Jorro sat up and smiled as they walked in. "I had a dream about you, Rassa, earlier today."

"Oh really?" She sat down beside him and took his hand. "What was I doing?"

"Sitting next to a fire." His smile spread wide, showing yellowed teeth and angry gums. "With a babe in arms and another next to the hearth. The bigger lad was playing with his friend. I think… I think the other boy was mine. He called me 'Papa'."

So he had heard at least some of what she said before. Rassa felt the weight of Sandor's hand on her shoulder. He squeezed her slightly and she placed her hand over his. Jorro looked up and beamed, almost as though he had not seen him before. "It's your friend!"

Sandor smiled thinly. Rassa pulled his hand until he was standing beside her, letting Jorro take a good look at him. "Yes, Jorro. This is Sandor Clegane. You met him before."

"I was so rude!" Jorro recalled. "Oh I _am_ sorry. It's just… Rassa's…"

"Your sister." Sandor nodded grimly. "I understand."

"You speak like one that knows my pains." Jorro's eyes lit up. "Do you have a sister."

"I did."

Rassa's head snapped around so quickly she thought it would screw off her shoulders.

"What happened to her?"

"She died." Sandor cleared his throat. "When she was just a child."

"Oooh." Jorro's face dropped. "I am sorry."

Sandor dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"I don't know what I would do if anything happened to Rassa." Jorro looked at her with such sorrow in his eyes that Rassa wondered if he had forgotten his own predicament.

"Nor I." Sandor agreed.

"You care for her then?"

"I do."

"Would you care for her, when I cannot?"

"I would do better than that. I would marry her." Rassa cringed. "I would give her a home, and happy children. I would love her until the day I die and never let any harm come to her."

Jorro made a queer sound; something between a laugh and a sob. "Rassa, marry him."

"No."

"What?" Jorro's face contorted in anger and confusion.

"I cannot, brother. His father will not allow it."

"To hell with his father!" Jorro boomed. "Do you want to marry him?"

"I would if I could."

"You can!" Jorro's face was millimetres from hers; his hand clasped hers so tightly that Rassa was ready to hear it snap. "Listen to me, Rassa. Please listen. I am dying. As I lie here, my only wish is to see you happy and safe. These ideas of class and propriety are piss. They mean nothing. They do not matter. When you are lying on _your_ deathbed what do you want to think? _'I lived a proper life'_ or _'I lived a happy life'_?"

Rassa hung her head. "But what can we do?"

"Run away!" Jorro exclaimed. "Like we always did. Go somewhere where no one knows you, be whomever you want to be, and under that guise live the life you that should be yours by right. As honest and good and beautiful as you are, sister, you do not deserve the life of a bastard girl; a nameless wretch living in the shadow of siblings that will not even recognise her. You deserve what Sandor is offering you, that and so much more. But if you are happy to take what he offers and that alone, then yield to him and let me die in peace."

Sandor crouched beside her and turned her face to his. "Please." He beseeched her. "Listen to your brother. In this room you can see two men that love you with all their hearts. Stop trying to protect me. It's not important."

Rassa put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his twisted mass of scars. "Alright." She said. "I won't fight you anymore. If you want to give it all up for me, I'll let you."

"That is all I ask." He replied.

"And I." Jorro chimed.

Rassa broke away from Sandor and kissed her brother's hand, then his forehead. "And I will name them all after you." She reminded him.

Jorro snorted. "No you will not!"

"I promised I would."

"Rassa, while I appreciate the sentiment, Jorro is a dreadful name." He scoffed. "The pigs and the dogs I don't mind, but don't impose it on your children."

Rassa looked at Sandor. "I'll have to agree with your brother again." He admitted reluctantly.

"Alright then." Rassa could not say she was particularly disappointed. "I cannot outmatch the two of you."

"Nor should you try." Jorro mocked.

She and Sandor stayed a while longer, until Jorro took a fit and lapsed back into his previous state. Rassa gently laid him down against the pillows and brought the sheets in around him while Sandor watched. Before they left, he took her brother's hand and bid him goodnight.

"And thank you." He breathed, so low that Rassa almost did not hear him.


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: I'm sooooo sorry about the delay! I had to have an outline of my thesis done by December 2nd, so naturally everything else took a back seat. Anyway, that's done, so here's the fifth and penultimate chapter!_

* * *

><p>A tingling sensation made Rassa jerk her arm with a sleep-heavy grumble. It returned immediately; a light touch akin to that of a feather against her skin, or an insect crawling, or a particularly pesky bedfellow. She reached out and brought her hand down with a sharp <em>slap<em> against her own arm, eliciting half-concealed giggles from her accoster. She turned in a flailing motion, grumbling all the way, until she judged she was a good distance from him, then tried to go back to sleep.

A heavy hand found her shoulder and easily turned her onto her back. She tried to roll away again, but he held her there. With her eyes still closed, Rassa pined at being disturbed and curled up against Sandor's chest, hoping to deter him from any mischief he was concocting by virtue of the sweetness of her actions.

Sandor pushed her onto her back again, determined to have things his own way. Rassa could sense him leaning over her, blocking the reddish glow of the early morning sun. His fingers swept across her collarbone, brushing up her neck and tracing the contours of her face. Rassa scowled at being disturbed, but stayed prone, undeniably enjoying the attention.

His dry lips pressed confidently against hers; Rassa pecked at them lethargically. She raised a weary hand to tug lightly at the fabric of his tunic, enjoying the feel of his hard chest under the fine material. Sandor rolled forwards, but kept most of his weight on the bed to that he did not crush her; Rassa could hear light laughter rumbling through him as her ear pressed to his body. Rassa finally gave in and raised her eyes to his.

He smiled. "Good morning."

"Morning." She responded hoarsely, trying to rub the sandman's dust from her eyes.

Sandor's hand was already pulling her slip down over her arm. "Pleasant dreams?"

"I don't recall them." Rassa pressed her mouth to his, ignoring the foul taste of morning that clung to both of them.

"Well then we must create pleasant memories." Sandor said assuredly, kissing her back. "To compensate for them."

Rassa responded with fervour, assaulting him with harsh kisses until he submitted to her, falling backwards so that she could crawl on top of him. She did so, pressing her full weight against him and indulging in the feeling of his chest raising her as he breathed. Sandor's hands ran up and down her form, hastily pushing the cotton slip off her shoulders and moving downwards to pull up its hem. He grabbed her gluttonously, forcing her to notice the reputable bulge in his linens. He pulled her slip up further, baring her intimates. Rassa shivered slightly at the chill that swept against her bare skin (though there was no noteworthy breeze present).

Sandor brought his hands up her legs; up her calves, over her crooked knees, along her white thighs, tracing their shape around until he was painfully close to the part she really wanted him to touch. Instead of pleasing her, however, he pinched he innermost thigh and spirited his hands up to her stomach with a chuckle. Rassa made no mention of it, but bounced mercilessly on top of him, pushing his breath out with a whoosh.

He laughed and sat them both up. Rassa squeezed his hips with her knees and grinned. She watched with mild curiosity as he tugged her slip down and away from her plump breasts. He kissed her soft skin, his gentle lips raising Goosebumps all along her skin. He traced the curve of her bosom with calloused fingers. The gentleness of his touch had surprised her at first, but now she knew that when he was alone with her the part of him that they called The Hound shied away, hardly to be seen; the cold armour that he had shouldered against a harsh world – and indeed a harsh fate – could be cast aside behind closed doors, with someone he trusted. This was the real Sandor Clegane; the face he hid from everyone else. It made her both sad and proud to think that he wore it for her and her alone.

Rassa cupped his butchered face in her hands and kissed him. Sandor pulled her roughly against himself, pushing her against his need, and covered her mouth with his. She sucked eagerly on his intrusive tongue until it became painful enough that he pulled himself free with a loud noise. He snarled playfully and snapped at her lips, nipping and tugging at skin that was already raw from their previous game. Rassa did not mind, but accepted his challenge, her breath interrupted by silent laughter as she sought to defeat him. This time, however, Sandor was the victor. When one of his bites prompted a particularly shrill yip, he recoiled.

"Ohhh!" He exclaimed apologetically, dabbing her lower lip and showing her a small patch of blood.

"_You!_" Rassa growled, slithering her hands under his tunic to pinch his chest and stomach. "You oaf!"

"I didn't mean to!" He implored, trying to catch her darting hands.

In one deft movement Rassa hauled the tunic over his head and the strong arms reaching for her. The second he was freed, Sandor caught her off guard and exacted his revenge. He squeezed her arms and legs so hard that the sensation was in the blurry region between pleasant and painful. Rassa tried to bottle her squeals as she fended him off, pinching him with renewed fortitude. He caught her wrist and uttered a "_HA!_" of victory. She tried pinching his knuckles, but only succeeded in surrendering her other hand to his vice-like grip. Now that he held both of her tiny wrists in just of his monstrous hands, she was vulnerable to whatever he had in store for her.

He tugged her hands gently upwards. He was so tall that he easily guided them over her head, though she was still straddling him. Doing so forced Rassa to arch her back, as she did not have enough movement in her arms to adjust the angle of her wrists or shoulders. With her entire form stretched out in front of him, Sandor was now in charge of this game. An impish grin spread across his face, setting his eyes alight with a wicked fire. He cast his free hand across her body. To and fro back and forth along her; tickling, pinching, scratching and grabbing as he willed. Rassa did not fight; she rather enjoyed the attention. When he deemed her sufficiently heated, Sandor crept his hand toward her sex, amused by the way she twitched ever so slightly in anticipation. He ran his fingers through the small nest of hair, slowly pulling it until she wriggled slightly in discomfort. He teased her outer layers; brushing and tickling her smooth, hot skin till she pined. He still withheld, rubbing his hand roughly against her, squeezing and stroking her tiny nub; winding her to the nth degree. Only when she was red and panting did he bow to her need, adroitly inserting one finger into her drenched entrance. Rassa was impatient at this stage; she forgot her manners and immediately tried to move against his hand, but Sandor jerked her arms quickly, making her freeze before she managed a single thrust. He wriggled his thick digit, a flicker of curiosity passing across his face as he judged her reaction. He stroked her walls carefully at first, but quickly became emboldened by her sighs. Rassa let her head fall back and savoured the feeling of his robust finger massaging her deeply. She tried not to move, but soon it became impossible as he wandered dangerously close to that sweet spot. Eventually he found it; that little ridge that made her jolt sharply the second he hit it. Rassa gasped as he rubbed her more confidently, making her jerk and tic unknowingly. She shuddered as wave after spark-filled wave rushed through her, trying to remember to breathe, not caring if she moaned too loud. Sandor inserted his second finger, stirring a pleasure so strong that Rassa could no longer vocalise properly. Instead she tried to catch her fleeing breath as her body was seized by a will of its own, curving her hips over Sandor's ruthless fingers in a pulse of energy that eventually burst out of her like a consuming fire.

Sandor let her go, drawing her flaccid, breathless form against his sturdy chest. From Rassa's perspective, it felt like being pressed against a particularly warm tree. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder and cherished the feeling of his soft kisses on the back of her neck. But he was not done with her; that much was evident. He shifted his weight onto his elbows and laboriously began to edge his briefs down. His wriggling became so desperate that Rassa cut her respite short and helped him in freeing himself from the confines of the thin cloth. He moved her on top of him and she sat down with a gasp.

Sandor raised himself again, placing one hand on the bed to steady himself. They now sat face-to-face as Rassa took the reins and swayed steadily in his lap. He pressed his forehead to hers and nuzzled her gently. The smell of him filled her nostrils and Rassa savoured it gratefully. She nipped his neck, listening to the soft whoosh of his breath as he maintained control of himself. She moved slowly at first, but then he pushed himself upwards, increasing her need. Rassa moaned and lurched over him and he responded in kind. As she moved hastily towards her goal, Sandor too began to show his desperation. He bucked and writhed beneath her, head pressed against her breast to hush his grunts and groans. Soon they both reached fever-pitch, as they crashed together for one final moment.

They were done quickly enough. In the silence that ensued, Sandor traced the bitemark he had left on her arm in the heat of the moment, smirking with an air of accomplishment. Rassa observed him quietly. She liked to watch the light dance in his eyes when he was beside her; it left all too soon when the burden of reality pressed down on him. When she thought about it, Rassa wished she could save him from all the troubles that haunted him; his brother, his duty to his family and the Lannisters', the things he had done in the past and the things he knew he would have to do in the future, most of all she wanted to unfetter him from The Hound – the persona he had assumed as a shield against all he had to face, the mask that was slowly seeping into his skin. She wondered if he could ever be free of that side of himself, and it was times like this that gave her hope.

* * *

><p>It was only when she woke up that Rassa realised that she had dosed. Sandor was gone, but had left a note promising that he would return that evening. She washed and dressed quickly, in hopes of spending a long day with Jorro. She did not eat; she would share her breakfast with him.<p>

As she made her way down to his chamber, she could not help bur rub her arms in defence of the chill that swept silently through the castle corridors. It was bright enough outside, and barely a leaf rustled on the trees, but still Rassa felt a bite in the air that froze her bare skin. The hallway to Jorro's room was quiet; all of the king's men had either gone to duty or to spend the day in merriment. Rassa appreciated the peace and quiet that her brother was granted in his illness; the king's men rarely caused commotion in the halls, and hardly ever disturbed the peace of their own wing.

Rassa knocked lightly on her brother's door. When he did not respond she knocked once again, more firmly. No response. This time she knocked loudly. There was no call from within, nor any sound of him stirring. Rassa shrugged, assuming he was sleeping, and opened the door; she could read by his bedside until he awoke.

* * *

><p>But there was no wakening for Jorro. Rassa opened the door to find her brother sprawled face-down on the floor beside his bed. His limbs were askew, with his sheets wrapped and twisted around his legs. He showed no signs of breathing.<p>

"Oh no." Rassa breathed, swaying back against the door frame. "Oh no." She edged forward on trembling legs. "Jorro?" She let out a shuddering breath before her knees gave way. "Jorro!" She closed the rest of the distance at a hesitant crawl. She shook her brother, to no avail. She tried to lift him, but the dead weight of his rigid body resisted her. "_No_." She murmured thickly, dragging him up into her arms with one great, determined haul. "Oh no, no, _no_." His eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead and covered with the dull whitish glaze of death. His jaw hung partially open; his blue lips encrusted with dried spittle and vomit. He was icy cold and stiff as stone to the touch. He did not answer her pleas.

"_Jorro."_ She urged, her voice strangely devoid of wit. "Jorro! Please, Jorro." She jostled him. "No, Jorro… Jorro?" She was trembling violently, her voice quavered. Chills shot along her spine. "Come _on_!" She gasped for breath. Jorro was dead. Her mind struggled to comprehend it. Her body sought to reject it. She retched dryly, once, twice, three times and thanked the gods that she had not yet eaten. She could not leave him like this, that much was certain. "HELP!" She screamed, the stone walls reflecting her distress. "_Help! _I don't know what to do!" _I don't know how this ever happened._ She thought to herself. _That my little brother should beat me to the grave. _The unfairness of it all hit her, and she finally found the strength to cry. She buried her face in Jorro's fine hair and wailed like a newborn babe.

* * *

><p>She did not even hear the guards dashing towards her cries. Nor did she hear them trying to rouse her. When one finally plucked up the initiative to pull her off the rigored and mottled cadaver, shrieked and thrashed like a lunatic. Her father and the maester came soon enough, at the behest of a distressed young guard undoubtedly stricken by the discovery of a corpse near to his very bedchamber, overseen by a raving woman.<p>

"Rassa." Her father's voice was soothing, if not hoarse with grief. She shied away from his touch. "_Rassa."_ He sat on the bed beside her, placing an arm tentatively around her shoulders. "What happened?"

"I don't know." She blubbered. Which was half a lie. Her father knew little of the sciences, but Rassa had seen enough of death on the Braavosi streets to guess what had happened. And I venture that you have guessed as well, having read the maester's previous prediction.

In the night, when everyone had left him to rest, Jorro took a fit unlike any other he had endured before. The merciless jerking and writhing of his limbs put immense pressure on his heart, which struggled to pump blood around his uncontrollable body. Eventually the pressure built up so much in the tiny capillaries of his brain that he suffered a massive stroke and died in seconds. Since Rassa was always the first to visit him, and since she was late this one morning, he was left on the floor for many long hours. In which time his form was seized by rigor mortis and his blood pooled, giving him an unsightly, discoloured complexion. This is what Rassa was found embracing. So you can imagine the distress it caused the people that found her, particularly the young messenger, who was not used to such things.

"Rassa?" His usually gruff voice was light and empathetic. She looked up at Sandor for the longest time before she recognised him, then looked back down at the figure that some of the guards, overseen by the maester, were wrapping thickly in blankets without a word. Somehow she had forgotten how to talk. He crouched in front of her, obscuring her view. "It's over, Sweetheart. Let's go back to your room, I'll have dinner brought up and we'll eat together. How about that?" He brushed a stray hair out of her expressionless face. "Rassa? You can't stay here. They've got to… They've got to sterilise the room." By 'sterilise' he meant 'burn all its contents, Jorro included'. Rassa was well aware of that. It needed to be done in order to stop his infection from spreading. And it was unwise to stay in the room of one deceased in such a manner, lest some of the pathogen should be airborne. But she could not move. "RASSA!" Sandor gripped her shoulders tightly, desperation painted across his face. "Rassa _move!_ Look at me! Talk to me!"

"It's no use." The maester chimed in. "She found him; it's only natural that she would be traumatised. I expect she will be catatonic for quite a few days yet."

"Days?"

"Yes, days." The maester sighed, as though the effort of having to explain such things was too much for him. "If you want her to go anywhere, you'll have to move her yourself."

Sandor nodded, understanding. He slipped one arm under Rassa's legs, and the other around her back, and scooped her up easily. She put up no resistance, but laid her head sweetly against his shoulder. Sandor kissed her forehead. "Come on then, off to bed with you."

His feet felt heavy as he walked, though Rassa was reasonably light for a woman grown. Every time he looked at her he received the same blank stare. He wondered if she meant to join Jorro, then immediately banished such thoughts from his head. _Rassa's a fighter_. He told himself._ She'll come around, in her own time_.

He opened her bedroom door with some difficulty and thrust it inward with a half-hearted kick. He laid Rassa down on the bed and covered her, talking to her all the time.

"I understand, Rassa." He said. "When my sister died I was inconsolable. She was my best friend, the only person in the world that never turned away from my face – before you, of course - so when I lost her I felt like there was no-one left in the world that would ever accept me like she did. My parents loved me well enough, but I could always see the shame and the guilt in their eyes when they looked at me. Gregor was, well, _Gregor_. I was alone in the world, but I never let it destroy me, I used it like a shield, to fortify myself against the cruelties I witnessed, endured, and in some cases wrought. I came to terms with the knowledge that I would never be accepted. That is until you came along." He leaned over her, brushing her coppery hair, He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her dry lips. If Rassa had been herself, she would have been struck by the light sniff that barely passed within the regions of human hearing, the mist of bridled tears that clung to his grey eyes, the way he bit his twisted lower lip to stop it from quivering. "Don't give up, Rassa." His voice was full of emotion unbefitting a man of his stature. "Please, don't give in." A single droplet fell from his eye onto her white cheek; Sandor brushed it away instantly. He lay on the bed beside her, drawing her prone form against himself, heedless of the heavy armour that would no doubt dent her soft skin. "Stay here, with me."


	6. Chapter 6

Rassa remained immovable for four days. All that while Sandor never left her side. He shunned his service and became her devout caregiver. Not that she required much caring; in that time she did not eat or drink and her waking was much the same as her sleeping, save that her eyes were open. Sometimes he even fancied that she looked at him. Her momentary glances – or shadows of glances, in truth – were what kept him going. Even when she did not eat, drink or speak, and barely moved, the light in her eyes gave him faith that she would come back to him. So he lay or sat next to her. He held her, kissed her, read to her and spoke to her. Sometimes he would sit hunched over the sagging virginal, tinkling the ivories clumsily and remembering the first time she kissed him. That was only a few weeks ago, but he felt like it was a lifetime away. In his darkest hours he wondered if she would ever rouse.

But as he said to himself when he carried to her room, Rassa was a fighter. Jorro's death had infirmed her momentarily; it was not the end of her. As the flimsy red fingers of the setting sun groped through her window on the eve of the fourth day, Rassa turned and smiled at the sight of him seated in front of the virginal. He was staring blankly down at the keys, his hands limp in his lap. His breath came in pitiful sighs.

"Sandor." She whispered. Her throat was dry from disuse and lack of liquids.

He jumped a mile and leapt to his feet, sending the bench crashing to the ground as he spun to look at her. His eyes were wide. His jaw drooped comically even as his mouth formed into something that was half gape and half grin.

"Rassa!"He threw himself at her, nearly crushing her with his weight as he dove onto her, clutching her tightly. Rassa just barely managed a croak of protest in between rounds of being wrung like a wet cloth. Eventually he let go and made her sit up. He shoved a plate into her lap and pressed a cup of water to her lips. She drank willingly enough. Now that she was awake she was quickly becoming dreadfully aware of all that she had missed in her coma. When she had drained her cup Sandor set it aside and skewered a sausage. He was trying to force it past her pursed lips when she finally lost her patience.

"Sandor! What in seven hells are you doing!" Rassa swatted his hand away.

"You haven't taken anything in four days!" He said. "I was half worried you'd starve or parch before you came to!" He resumed his efforts with the sausage.

Rassa batted it away once more. "That's well enough, but why are you spoon feeding me?"

His arm dropped in another venture to her mouth. "I don't really know."

Rassa snorted and doubled over her plate. It seemed like millennia since she had laughed. Sandor joined her, his hoarse bark filling up the room. When they had finally regained control, he pressed his palm to her drawn face and kissed her. She rolled her eyes. " What was that for?"

"I was starting to think I'd never hear you laugh again." He answered with a gloomy smile.

Rassa lifted her fork and smiled. "You know I'm tougher than that." She chomped eagerly on the sausage, devouring it in seconds, then lifted a whole egg up on her fork and inhaled it in one gulp. The food was cold and greasy, but it tasted like heaven. Her stomach was grateful for it. Sandor watched in astonishment as she cleared the whole plate before his eyes. She placed it aside and plucked up the heel of bread on the bedside table. He smiled, refilled her cup from the jug of water by her bed and handed it to her.

"If you didn't think I was going to wake up." She said, picking the bread apart and sucking on each piece like it was fine cuisine. "Then why did you have that by my bed?"

"That was my dinner." He replied with a sigh. Rassa choked and looked guiltily down at the bread. He sniggered. "I'm only joking, Love. I had my hopes."

"Oh good." Rassa relaxed and resumed her slow dissection of the bread. "…They burned Jorro?"

"Yes." Sandor said darkly. "In the yard outside the servants' entrance. His entire room was cleared out."

"All of it?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Why?"

"I would've liked to have kept…" She took a deep breath, trying to stay the wave of emotion bearing down on her. Sandor took her (now breadless) hand. "I would've liked to have kept something of his. Just a token of some sort."

"I don't think you're likely to forget him." Sandor squeezed her hand.

"Me neither." She agreed. "But –" She wavered.

"But something would've been nice, I know." He kissed her cheek.

"Did you keep anything?"

"What?"

"Of your sister's. Did you keep anything?"

"You remember that?" He laughed. She had been catatonic when he told her the story of his sister's death.

"I heard everything you said when I was unconscious." She smiled.

"Everything?"

"Yes." She answered. "What do you think drew me out of it?"

"Oh." He grinned in spite of himself, proud that he had helped in some way.

* * *

><p>"Sandor I-" She knew she had to say it now, but she did not know how.<p>

"Hm?" He cocked an eyebrow, sensing her unease. "What's wrong?"

She lowered her head. "I can't stay here. I have to leave."

"WHAT!" He jumped up. "What do you mean '_I have to leave'!"_

He bellowed so loudly that Rassa actually cowered. "Just let me explain –"

"I have been _here_, in this room for weeks on end, at hand to comfort you while your brother died!"

"Sandor –"

"I never left your side from the moment you slipped away!"

"I know it's –"

"I went to my father about you!"

"Yes but –"

"I made peace with your brother. I promised him I'd look after you!"

"It's not about _YOU!_" Rassa finally roared back. He shut up. "I love you! I do! I don't _want_ to leave, but I _must._ It's my father's wife: she wants me dead."

"Don't be ridiculous!" He scoffed. "She took you into her home! She may not love you as your father does, but she means you no harm!"

"You're wrong!" Rassa retorted. "I heard her. Her and the queen. They were talking about Jorro and I. She told the queen everything, how she despised us, that she wanted us dead –" He tried to turn away but she caught his arm. "Sandor! She's the one that arranged Jorro's death."

"Jorro died of syphilis, Rassa!" Sandor shot back. "He wrought his own demise!"

His words stung, but Rassa brushed them off. He needed to understand. "She's the one that introduced him to the man he caught it from." She explained, trying to calm her voice. "She knew he had the disease and she had him seduce Jorro, deliberately infecting him!"

Sandor shook his head in disbelief.

"I _heard _her, Sandor!" She implored. "I swear it. I heard her and the queen talking about it in the Godswood. I'm not lying! Why would I lie?"

He met her gaze and she saw him falter. "Alright." He sighed. "If what you're saying is true, why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because Jorro was sick." She explained. "At first I was so distracted and frantic that I forgot it, then, when I thought about telling you, I knew you would try to get me to leave." Sandor confirmed this with a curt nod. "I couldn't leave him alone like that. Not even if it meant my own life. I wasn't going to let him die alone." Her words stuck at that point, when she realised that in spite of all her dedication he _had_ died alone. She covered her face with her hands, trying to block out her shame.

The mattress sagged under Sandor's weight. He hugged her. "Ok. I'm sorry. I believe you."

Rassa sniffed. "Thank you."

"But I can't lose you." He stated. "You need to disappear, but you won't do it alone. I'll help you. Just trust me."

"I do." She vowed.

* * *

><p>Sandor, through various connections that he would not name, quickly arranged rooms for Rassa in a local pub that earned a second pay check by doubling as a semi-private brothel. He paid off the owner 'generously enough' to ensure that she was undisturbed as well as catered for. Rassa was wracked with distress for the first week of her stay, but as the days passed and she remained unmolested, she settled into her new life. She could not go outside while her father's family was still in the city; both she and Sandor agreed that when they left they would most likely take their house guard with them, along with whomever they had hired to search for her. That would not be long now, since Rassa knew they had long overstayed their welcome at the king's expense. With Jorro disposed of and her missing they no longer had reason to stay.<p>

She spent most of her time trying to earn her keep in the busy house. The staff appreciated her willingness to help them, and as soon as she established herself as a hard worker and a decent cook, most of the resentment they held against the girl being kept by a lord evaporated. For it just so happened that this particular house was a favourite of Sandor's. During his time with Rassa the staff had come to miss him (and his gold). When he showed up with a girl he had pilfered from a lesser establishment (such as they put their story), they put her up without question and gladly accepted their payment, which covered the price of her board and her… _services_.

Every second night they played their roles. Sandor would sit with the castle guards, various knights and other men of the King, and Rassa would approach him, dressed like any of the other girls, with her hair dyed chestnut brown. She would sit in his lap, pour his wine and giggle at anything he said, like a good little whore and the men would laugh and say that the old Hound had finally found a woman that would have him. "She must be blind!" They jeered. "Just how deep _are_ your pockets, eh Dog?" Sandor would sneer at them, occasionally granting a particularly smart remark a dry laugh. Rassa ignored them and played with his hair.

At the end of the night they always slipped away to her chambers. Sandor would stay the entire night and leave early the following morning. "Stay safe." He always said, kissing her on the lips. She promised that she would.

Weeks wore on and Rassa grew bolder. Her father had departed, so she gladly took to the streets. She wandered aimlessly, as she had once with her brother by her side, remembering the brief time they had spent in its winding alleys, broad markets and buzzing squares. More often than nought, she found her thoughts straying back to more distant times, when they had ventured the streets of Braavos. At that time they would chase cats, run along the rooftops and fight with rival groups of children, hurling clumps of dirt, rocks and stinking handfuls of offal at one another before being chased down off the roofs by people who disliked having their washing covered in their projectiles. _I didn't see it then_. She thought. _But I was better off where I was. Sure enough I was dirty, poor and hungry, but I had Jorro and no-one was out to kill me_. She shook her head. _I have Sandor now, though_. She threw her head back and contemplated the clouds. _It's no good dwelling on what's past. It won't get me through today._ Rassa scattered the remnants of her naan bread to the birds and stood up. Above Flea Bottom, the sun was setting, casting a blinding glare against the doors of the Dragonpit. It was time to go home.

* * *

><p>She was coring peppers in the kitchen when the landlord approached her. The look on his face told her things were not going as well as she thought.<p>

"What've you been up to?" He grunted, staying her knife hand.

"What do you mean?" Her uncertainty was genuine enough.

"I mean why did two queer looking soldiers march in this afternoon, asking about the new girl I'd acquired?" Rassa caught her breath.

"I-I don't know." She fibbed. "Maybe they liked the look of me. I'm kept by Lord Clegane any-"

"I know damn well who keeps you, girl." He growled. "What I want to know is, _why's he keeping you_. Maybe you've got yourself into a spot of trouble. Maybe you's got a price on your head!"

She backed away from him; his clothes reeked of sour ale and his breath of tobacco. "I'm nothing of the sort!"

"Really, eh?" He said. "Then how's come you don't talk like no whore?"

"What does a whore talk like?"

"Not like no-one that's been bred well!" He laughed, not in a comforting manner.

"Well then maybe I've just got more _class _than the ones that'll have you." Rassa retorted. She was not sure if it was a good idea to talk back to him, but she thought if she acted offended he would at least believe her, even if he hit her.

And hit her he did. The back of his hand struck her face with a mighty _thwack!_, sending Rassa staggering backwards. The rest of the kitchen staff stopped pretending to be so engrossed in their work and looked up to witness the outcome.

"I don't know what you and that Lord of yours are up to, but you best do it off of my property!" He rumbled.

"We will!" Rassa guaranteed. "And I can promise you, he shall hear of this!"

That worked well enough; even a lumbering oaf like the publican knew it was not wise to cross the Hound. Realising who he was challenging painted his face an entirely different colour – that of eggshells and seagulls. He did not even seem to see Rassa retreat to her room.

* * *

><p>The next evening Rassa did not receive Sandor in the common room, so he soon figured something had gone wrong. He found her in her room waiting for him.<p>

"Why didn't you come down?" He put a hand to her forehead. "Are you ill? What's happened?"

"I must leave." She sighed. She was unenthusiastic about running again, it seemed to her that she had spent her whole life fleeing from something, but she knew she was right. "Some of my father's men stayed behind at his wife's behest. The landlord said so. He's dreadfully suspicious. He tried to evict me."

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Sandor's reaction was to animated that he sent two roosting pigeons darting out from under the eaves just outside the window. "Filthy little… I'll hack him to pieces…"

"Shhhh." Rassa took his hand, breaking off his rave. "That will do me no good. I told him you'd kill me if he tried to do such a thing –"

"By the Seven I will!"

"- Which scared him well enough." Rassa continued, ignoring him. "Yet that can't stop him from ratting me out. He thinks there's gold in handing me over – there probably is, mind you – so not even the notion of the Hound extracting his innards will make him skip on that chance."

"I know enough of the hearts of such men to know you're right." Sandor moaned, passing a hand before his eyes. "What more can I do? I don't know anyone else that could take you."

"No." Rassa stood and clutched his arms. "Sandor I cannot stay in King's Landing. They will chase me all around the city, like a pig running all around its sty from the mallet. I've got to _escape_, leave the city."

He nodded. "And where will we go."

"Sandor there is no 'we' in this." She hated herself for saying it. "Everyone knows the face of the Hound. If you come with me, they will always be on my trail. It must be me, alone. I will go back to Braavos, they won't find me there."

"But…" His face contorted. He sobbed. Rassa's heart broke. "You can't. Not on your own. Who will protect you? Wha-" He drew a shuddering breath. "What will I do without you? How can I stay here, knowing you're the-seven-know-where, alone?"

"You _must _stay." She urged. She found herself surprisingly focused, though inside she felt like she was dying. "If you go I'm as good as dead. Sandor listen to me." She lifted his face to hers. "I'll make you a promise. I'll go to Braavos. I will pass out of sight. You will not even receive a letter, but I will persist. In five years' time, go to the Saltpans, where all of the trading ships dock on their way to and from Braavos. Look for me there. I will look for you. Promise."

Sandor's lip twitched. "I promise."

* * *

><p>The next afternoon Rassa left. She traded some of the gifts that Sandor had given her (and some that she had 'obtained' in the Keep) for a fine black horse. He was a tall and muscular Cob who could bear her very far very swiftly. She threw her cloak around herself and drew her hood before leaving by the Old Gate, where the guards hardly glanced at her. A peasant woman riding a farm horse off to errands is not exactly noteworthy.<p>

She followed the broad road northwest until it merged with the Kingsroad. It was only a short ride between there and her destination. Rassa was apprehensive about returning to Braavos, the city she had abandoned what felt like a lifetime ago, but the thought of once again reuniting with Sandor kept her heels pressed firmly against Nishaa's (she dubbed the horse) sides. She rode hard for many days without stopping, pausing only momentarily to feed and water herself and her mount before galloping off again. All the while she imagined her mother's men closing in behind her, an thought that pushed her on and on to the Saltpans, and Home.

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><p>In the meantime Sandor lingered behind. The Red Keep felt less and less like a home to him as the warmth Rassa had given him slowly abated. He roamed the halls and grounds of the castle, summoning up precious memories. He patrolled the Godswood, the bridge across the Blackwater, the servants' wings and outer keeps. He frequented the tavern he that had once been her refuge, losing in the murk of sour red wine. He did not talk with the other guards any more, not willingly, and they soon shunned him, agreeing that he had finally gone mad. When he felt most in need of comfort he would go to the room that they had shared so happily during her stay in the castle. There he would hum snippets of the songs she had sung, staring at the virginal and its empty bench as her shade's fingers flickered across the motionless keys. It was there that he would pray for her to come back.<p>

Soon enough, though, rumours started circulating around the castle of the whore that the Hound had tried to keep and then sent away to wander in the countryside. He would hear people whispering in their rooms, in dark niches and around corners.

"Did you hear he sent some bandits after her?"

"I heard he sent Gregor."

"Coward, to not even deal with her himself."

"And Gregor caught her, so he did. Poor thing."

"They say it took her days to die."

"How many times do you think he raped her before then?"

"A vile fate."

"And she already big with his brother's get and all."

"I hear he plucked that out first."

"Aye and dashed it against the rocks."

For the longest time afterward Sandor hid himself in their room. He cried at first, so quietly that barely a mouse heard him. Soon his tears subsided to silence, and all that could be heard was the discordant thrum of his fingers idly tapping yellowed keys.

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><p>AUTHOR: <em>Poor Rassa, eh? And poor Sandor too ;3; <em>

_~Anyways. She might be dead, but I'm still not done with our dear Hound! In fact I'm planning another fic already, a sequel to this one. I'm quite busy through December, what with Christmas and working full-time and what not, but I'm going to try to have the first part up by mid-January/early February. Don't worry - it won't be as long as this! At least I hope not. Rassa was a plot bunny that just kept hopping._


	7. UPDATE

**The first part of my new story, 'Morning Star', is finally up! **

**Read it here: .net/s/7933575/1/Morning_Star**

**Don't forget to rate and review **

**And sorry about the delay!**

**(To people coming in from the Game of Thrones section: This story contains some spoilers from the books. I have done my best to keep them to a minimum, but it's best that you don't read this if you REALLY don't want to read spoilers. You have been warned.)**


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